Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Sneak Peek


Grabbed a copy of the vinyl for Ben Nichols' "The Last Pale Light In The West" while I was in the Sabot office yesterday. Orange vinyl. Looks amazing. Reminds me of playing on the Revival Tour and what a fun time that was. This is a great record, Ben really captured something. I'm not sure when Jordan is announcing a pre-sale but definitely worth grabbing a copy when it's out.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Home For The Night

Why are the pictures hung on the wall so high?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

An Evening With The Gabels


So me and my wife are doing this thing. Everyone's invited...

Sunday, November 28, 2010

All Apologies

An apology is long over due, to everyone who bought tickets to come out and see us at any of the tour dates we had to cancel this past October and November, we're sorry. Canceling tour dates is the last thing that we ever want to do, especially when the dates have us going to some of our favorite places in the world, but this past October a culmination of circumstances were engulfing us and we had to take some time off from touring to go home and sort things out.

On a related note, after almost a five year relationship we are leaving Sire/Warner. We have nothing but gratitude towards all the people we worked with at the label and feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to make the records we made while with the label.

We'll be getting back out on the road starting with a handful of radio station festival shows early this December. Our friend Jay Weinberg will be sitting behind the drum kit for us, which we're very excited about. In January we're going to be heading out with Fences and Cheap Girls for a couple weeks before joining the Dropkick Murphy's in their month long celebration of St. Patrick’s Day. Specifics about all the shows should be up on the website shortly if they aren't already. At some point this new year we also hope to reschedule the Australia, Europe and the U.K. canceled tour dates.

Again, our sincerest apologies to all our fans for the cancellations.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Last Night's Dream

Despite the band's notorious air-tight security I found myself having somehow gained access to a prime spot for the show, taking a knee on stage right, with a full view of both stage and crowd. Because it was a dream I guess and in my dreams I have all access. Was this Reading or Leeds? I couldn't tell, but it was one or the other, or maybe an amalgamation of both? The opening riff to 'Welcome To The Jungle' began, that unmistakable lick echo'd through the air, and then Axl's voice, that unmistakable nails on a chalk board scream, howled into the English summer night.


"Do you know where you are? You're in the Jungle baby!! You're gonna diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!".


The band launched into the song, guns blazing (pun intended) and unlike the reality I saw a couple weeks ago when we actually played the Reading and Leeds festivals which Guns N' Roses were the headliner of, the crowd was going crazy, loving ever second of it. The crowd I saw in my dream was a sharp contrast to the bored, dazed, confused, disillusioned, angry faces I actually saw in the audience. The band in my dreams was a sharp contrast to the boring, super cheese, excessive, bullshit I actually saw on stage. In reality there was almost silence in between songs when I saw them play, but in this dream when 'Welcome To The Jungle' ended there was a roar of applause and then they quickly launched into 'Live and Let Die', the pyrotechnics all firing in time with the music, unlike the off-time reality I heard and saw, and unlike that reality they were thunderous cannons exploding, not M80's and bottle rockets.


They took time before starting the next song , the kind of time a band takes when they don't give a fuck because they know they have that kind of power over the audience. The kind of power Guns 'N Roses probably used to have but now just think they do. While an ocean of captivated faces, waited for the next song to begin, it was a virtual social event on stage, the band talking amongst themselves and with the crew and groupies, sipping drinks, laughing, it was oddly casual like a smoke break at work. Except Axl, who did not partake in the socializing. Axl kneeled on a riser in the center of the stage staring deeply into a painting of the devil propped up on a small easel. It was a meditation. I had seen this painting somewhere before but couldn't remember where.


Before standing up Axl said a few words to himself, what looked like a prayer and then he blessed himself by drawing a pentagram in the air with his right hand over his face and chest as a Christian would a cross. I don't remember what the next song was, something new, something with a long drawn out piano intro. I was distracted first by trying to understand the meaning of the painting, the prayer, the pentagram, but then I was distracted by Dr. Ruth Westheimer walking up onto the side of stage out of nowhere. Her hair was short and she was wearing a red power suit. She stood right next to me and slowly surveyed the audience and then the band and then greeted a tech and proceeded to walk back stage, as if she was part of the crew, as if she was there working with the band.


When the next song ended the same ceremony happened, except this time Axl kneeled before a different painting, a smaller painting offset in front of the painting of the dark lord. Again, he sat lost in thought, staring deep into this new painting. Again, the rest of the band engaged in casually socializing amongst themselves, crew and groupies. Again, the crowd waited patiently. Again, before Axl got off his knees and the next song began he said his prayer and blessed himself with a pentagram. I couldn't see the face of this new painting though.


Before the song fully kicked in one of the unmemorable, new guitar players started signaling for my attention, it seemed like he thought I was a tech and he held out his guitar for me to come and grab. I went along with it, scurried out to him, hunched down like a tech would and grabbed his guitar from him, a red telecaster model, but not a Fender. From the other side of the stage a real tech scurried up and brought him a replacement. As I turned around and the band kicked in, I passed in front of Axl's riser and swiped the new painting, concealing it behind the guitar. Looking up I saw another of the band's real techs staring me down from the side of the stage. I thought for sure I was busted. When I got to him he reached for the guitar and took it from me. His demeanor giving me the impression that he thought I was supposed to be there. I ran away with my prize, Axl's painting in hand.


Once I was a good distance away I looked down to see what the painting was that I had just stolen and saw in my hands a crude pastel of blackness and clouds with a large image of Yoda's head floating in the right corner of the canvas. I didn't understand the significance. What was the correlation between Star Wars and Satan and Axl Rose? There was no time to think, it wouldn't be long before Axl noticed the painting was missing. I hurried back toward my dressing room behind the side stage we had played hours earlier. I knew as long as I could hear the band playing it meant that Axl hadn't noticed the picture was missing.


When I got back to our stage I found Alkaline Trio packing up their gear in front of it, their show was over and the crowd was gone. I pulled Matt, Derek and Danny aside and quickly showed them the painting and explained where it came from. They all laughed and gave a 'what the fuck' response. I explained to them the whole scene, Dr. Ruth, the painting of the devil, the prayer, the pentagram, how I had been mistaken for a guitar tech and my escape. I thought maybe they would be able to help with understanding the significance as I knew some of them where into that dark arts kind of shit. They offered no insight and went back to packing up their gear.


Backstage I found the rest of my band and showed them the painting, everyone marveled and gave the same 'what the fuck' response as Alkaline Trio had. Again, I explained the whole story, Dr. Ruth, the painting of the devil, the prayer, the pentagram, how I had been mistaken for a guitar tech and my escape. We were all at a loss for understanding, myself especially. I didn't even know why I had felt compelled to take the painting. I had no idea what I was going to do with it now that I had it. Why had I chosen to steal that specific painting over the painting of the devil when I could have grabbed either one? Did the painting hold any powers? Was this part of Axl's mojo? Was the painting worth any money? Would Tommy Stinson think it was funny that Axl's painting had been stolen? Yeah, Tommy Stinson would definitely think it was funny.


Then in the distance I heard the music come to a crashing halt. There was silence first and then Axl started speaking. We all listened as he launched into a tirade I knew was directed at me. For some reason though I guess he was under the impression that my name was Frankie, as he kept addressing me as such. Or maybe in the dream my name was Frankie?


"Where's that little mother fucking thief, coward, Frankie?!?!… Frankie, you son of a bitch, think you can come up here into my house and steal from me mother fucker?!?!?!… Frankie, you little dirt bag, cock sucker, I'm coming for you!!!!!"


And then the loud thud of a microphone hitting the floor was heard and I knew Axl was coming for me.


And then I woke up.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Kitchener, ON

Jason Linkins at Huffington Post breaks it down way better than I could have ever hoped to... http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/09/10/this-is-how-the-media-wor_n_712229.html

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Quebec City, QC

I just got an email from our UK publicist asking if I want to interview Steve Ignorant from Crass for the magazine Big Cheese. How fucking cool is that!!!!! What questions should I ask him?

Today's show is a festival in Quebec, which means we're just sitting here in the bus under an overpass. It's kind of grey and chilly outside, looks like it's gonna rain at some point and it doesn't really look like there's anything around here worth walking to. I may explore later though.

I've been watching a bunch of the footage on CNN from all the controversy over Terry Jones' upcoming book burning in Gainesville. Have you seen all the fuss? I gotta say, I think that the right to burn the books should be defended, I think it's distasteful for sure and that the church people planning it are most certainly ugly people, book burnings are crass (get it?), archaic, but I'm out here on the road every night singing songs about smashing crosses. There's no real difference between wanting to smash a cross and wanting to burn a book, one is just more passive, the other more interactive.

I think that the kind of religious fanatic that would kill another person or multiple people over the burning of a book or in the name of a god is way more disgusting than the kind of religious fanatic that would burn a book. Ultimately I condemn both sides of the argument, I hold no respect for either parties involved, just the innocent bystanders who don't give a fuck about holy wars and don't want it effecting their community. But you can fear the intent and devotion behind someone waging a jihad. Burning a book is just cowardly, in fact it's the act of someone who's attention starved and most certainly vain. This bible thumper in Florida is nothing more than a used car salesman, a fucking ego, but he did pay for those books, they're his, he made his contribution to the religion financially he should be free to do what he wants with them. I think it's far more important to focus on defending freedom of expression and freedom of speech than to live in fear of people who would kill for a god. No book is more valuable than a human life.

Really the most sad figures in the picture are the flocks on each side of the divide, the followers. The fucking sheep. How terrifying would it have been to be a fly on the wall in that tin roof church when the Pastor Terry Jones announced his idea to his congregation. How frightening the faces must have been to witness as they grasped the idea, warmed to it and then embraced it. I wonder if any of them have been to a book burning before or if this will be all of their first. What is proper attire for a book burning? Casual? It's gonna be hot and humid out, are shorts okay? Does the Pastor Terry Jones actually light the fire himself? Do you clap once it's really burning? How does it end? Will songs be sung? How did they factor how many copies of the book where needed for proper dramatic effect? Are the copies of the book being burned American made or imported? Are there any bible burnings planned to coincide? Someone should coordinate one of those album smashing parties too, you know where they bring in a steam roller and run over a bunch of Beatles and Elvis records, just for the fuck of it. Are there going to be refreshments? Is any book burning merchandise going to be available for sale? Is seating general admission or is there anyway to have guaranteed front row spots? Has Terry Jones ever actually read the book he's gonna burn?

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Oslo, Norway - Thon Hotel


It was raining when we arrived here at the hotel. After eating some Indian food at the train station next door I came back here to my room and fell asleep. I slept for 9 hours. Not a good way to get over the jet-lag and adjust to the time change but I needed it. And now I'm up, wide awake. 5pm set time at the Oya Fest tomorrow.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Spokane, WA

I'm hiding in my bunk. I don't want to go to the bar, I don't feel social. If you want privacy on a bus this is it, you've got your bunk and the protection of a cheap pleather curtain to pull shut. That or I guess you could lock yourself in the bathroom too, but people would start knocking eventually. The ceiling is low in here.
We played at the Knitting Factory in Spokane, Washington tonight. I didn't know what to expect from the crowd before going onstage. And despite the super cramped, small stage it ended up being one of the best shows of the tour. The crowd was full of energy and super receptive. Thanks to everyone who came out. Thanks for singing along.
I took a walk around downtown before the show. After a couple blocks I remembered the area I was in. I remembered coming here to Spokane back on the second tour we ever did. We didn't play a show, we just passed through town. I remembered walking around the shopping mall asking for spare change. Actually my theory back then was to ask for a quarter so I could "make a phone call", cause I thought it seemed less like charity and people would be less inclined to turn me down as they wouldn't want to feel bad about themselves for not helping me out. I mean hey, I'm only asking cause I need to make a phone call. We didn't do too bad that day, we managed to fill the gas tank and fill our stomachs.
Only five more shows on this tour and then Europe. Andrew came back out yesterday. It's good to have him back. He's down at the bar right now with James and George. In about an hour I predict I'll hear the front door open and then slam shut, followed by the sound of stumbling footsteps, yelling and laughing in the front lounge. As for me I'm gonna keep the curtain shut and sit tonight out. I hope to fall asleep before I hear the start of the bus engine.

Monday, June 14, 2010

UK Tour Journal

I kept a tour journal while in the UK a couple weeks ago and it was recently posted on Buzzgrinder.com; I thought I would repost here as well...

Day one – Hatfield

I didn’t understand why the gentlemen who had just a couple hours previous sold us the weed was now standing a couple feet from me yelling in my direction for smoking said weed.

“Who the hell’s smoking weed here! Who the fuck… is it you!?!?!”

Look man, stop pointing your fucking finger at me. I just got done playing on this very stage and now I want to stand here, smoke a J, which you sold me, and watch my friends band play. Get off my back. His friend was upset, too. I guess ’cause I was standing on the wheel well of the orange Jägermeister truck, the bed of which serving as the stage. OK, I get it, now that you point it out to me, yes, I may scratch the paint standing here, but really man, who fucking cares? You both just look ridiculous standing there yelling at me.

Girls are really into wearing leggings as pants over here.

Day two – Leeds

It was “vegetable stew” over rice for lunch, and then they added in some potatoes and it was “vegan curry” over rice for dinner. Today for lunch they took away the potatoes but added in some beans and called it “vegan chili,” which was served over rice. I don’t really care what’s for dinner tonight at this point.

I washed some laundry in the backstage bathroom sink, hung it out to dry in our dressing room. I haven’t had a shower in three days. I have also somehow managed to lose every pair of socks that I brought with me except for the pair that I am currently wearing. When I take them off at night, they maintain the exact shape and form of my feet. In a couple more days I’m expecting them to start walking on their own.

The show schedule kept getting pushed back throughout the day, which in turn threw off my pacing. Started drinking a little too long before actually taking the stage. Stumbling drunk, I lost myself in the whitewash of guitar distortion and crash cymbals. Sometimes walking back to the dressing room, you feel more like you just lost a fist fight than played music to a crowd of people.

The after party was stupid, I regretted being there immediately. The music was too loud to have any kind of conversation, and beyond that it was horrible music. Every time a round of shots was brought to the table and glasses were raised, our group of people cheered as if the roller coaster had just reached the top of the climb and was about to free fall. Hands up in the air everyone, here we go!

Day three – Glasgow

I can’t stop listening to Crazy Arm. Their album, Born to Ruin, is the best I’ve heard in a while.

Day four – London

Full day of press before the show, not much time to explore or see anything. I’ve been having trouble forming complete sentences when engaged in social conversation lately. My tongue ties. I’m also having trouble exiting conversations when I no longer want to be engaged in them. I’m not smiling ’cause I’m happy, I’m uncomfortable and nervous. I don’t really have anything else to say, and you don’t really have anything to say to me. I’m looking for the exit.

I wish I was the type of person who could get away with wearing sunglasses at all hours, day or night. Sure, people would probably think I’m a cunt, but who really gives a fuck what they think anyways? Just that little bit of distance would be nice. I’ve been finding myself locked in a bathroom stall often lately, standing there, checking my messages obsessively on my phone.

Day five – Manchester

In my dream last night, I had run my mouth a little too much and found myself in a back alley brawl. I realized quickly that I had previously underestimated my opponent when talking shit. My friends whom I had counted on being there to back me up were nowhere to be found. I was quickly pinned to the floor, punch after punch rained down onto my face. I couldn’t figure out which was more painful, the beating or the embarrassment of getting what I deserved.

Ended the night in a karaoke bar. My version of George Michael’s Faith was surely an insult even to Limp Bizkit’s version.

Day six – Birmingham

Started today off with a short acoustic set at Kerrang! Radio. Before I played, I ended up doing a quick interview with Johnny DOOM, of the band DOOM. Holy shit! I love DOOM! If you had told the 16-year-old me that one day Johnny DOOM, singer of DOOM, as in Police Bastard DOOM (Holy shit!), would first interview me on air and then introduce me to a crowd of 20 people at 1 in the afternoon to play a terribly awkwar acoustic set in a radio station lobby in Birmingham, England while touring in support of my band’s second major label release — I think my head would have exploded.

Last show of the U.K. run tonight, wish we could have stayed longer. Looking forward to coming back in the fall.

Friday, May 14, 2010

I Was A Teenage Anarchist



I wrote this short piece for the website www.antimusic.com and their series "Singled Out". Thought I would reprint it here...

I got into radical politics when I was 15 years old, shortly after discovering punk music. At first I thought punk was just nihilism, misanthropy, self destruction, Sid Vicious. Then when I was 15 I got beat up by the cops; the experience changed my life. It was the 4th of July, Naples, Florida. Every year there's a fireworks celebration down on the beach by the pier, at least there used to be. Small boardwalks connect the street to the sand. I had gone down early to meet up with a couple friends and I as I stood there on the boardwalk looking out into the sea of people trying to spot my friends, two police officers approached me. I was asked to get off the boardwalk, they said I was blocking the flow of traffic. So I did, I turned around and walked off the boardwalk back down onto the street.
Then the two officers approached me again telling me to get off the boardwalk. I told them I was off the boardwalk. Next thing I knew one of the cops had grabbed me by the neck, twisted my arm behind my back and started dragging me over towards their parked cruiser. They slammed my face down onto the sun-baked trunk of the car., kicked my legs apart and started going through my pockets. Every time I tried to get my head up off the burning trunk it was slammed back down harder. After a long and immature verbal exchange, most of the immaturity being on my part (I think the words "fucking" and "pig" were used quite a lot if I remember correctly) they cuffed me and threw me into the back of the cruiser. The one cop stood there taunting me through the window until more officers showed up on the scene, at which point they pulled me out of the cruiser. My body went limp and I fell to my knees. Two officers pulled me up, one on each elbow, putting all my weight onto my cuffed wrists, my legs kicked out involuntarily, two other cops grabbed one each. They brought me around to the other side of the cruiser and dropped me face first into the middle of the street. One officer put a boot to my head, another put a knee in my back and then they proceeded to hog-tie me. I was then lifted up like a suitcase, held by an elbow and a leg and thrown into the back of a different cruiser.
When I got down to the station I remember the main officer who instigated the whole thing opening the car door and telling me he was going to cut my legs free, that if I kicked him he would put a bullet in my head. I was charged with Battery On An Officer and Resisting Arrest With Violence, two felony charges that I was convicted of despite my mother hiring an attorney that she couldn't really afford. I know now it was a small injustice compared to other instances of police violence I've heard of over the years, I was just a dirty punk kid who walked past the wrong cops, but at the time I was more than outraged.
The experience politicized me. I dropped out of high school. I started doing a zine. I started a distro of political pamphlets and Anarcho-punk records. I started a Food Not Bombs chapter with a group of friends. We met other like minded people across Florida and started a radical activist network. We organized protests, we organized gatherings, workshops, participated in direct action. I was a Teenage Anarchist. When I was younger my opinions where very black and white, I was either for or against something, and that's how I defined myself. A lot of those opinions where formed by social influence from the scene I was a part of, being younger I felt the need to belong to something, a group of people, I wanted acceptance. Over time I realized how some people use their positions of stature to pursue their own personal agenda's, selling their own personal brand of self- serving revolution. This all being the complete opposite of what drew me towards Anarchism in the first place. I found that the people who professed the loudest that they were the most open minded individuals were in fact usually the most close minded. I feel like the revolution sold to me when I was a teenager by the punk scene, by the Anarchist scene was a lie. The real revolution was the political awakening. That initial spark that made me want to change the world. And that's what I'm interested in, maintaining that fire. That's what the song is about. I am an autonomous individual. I think for myself. I have no need to supplement my identity through belonging to a scene or exclusively endorsing any brand of political thought. And if anyone is offended by that I feel like it only reaffirms my conviction. For if it's heresy for an Anarchist to say "FUCK Anarchy" then Anarchism is truly just another flag, and I say burn it along with the rest of them.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Where did we leave off?

Updates from the road? I made a $100 bet with Andrew, I can't cut my hair for six months. I'm still trying to convince Andrew to take me up on my counter bet, $1000 says that he can't eat/ingest his entire Blackberry cell phone over a 6 month period of time. I don't care how he eats it, he can even wrap the battery in a condom. Just as long as every single piece of the phone passes through his intestines. Anyone want to match me? Great times last night in Toledo. Buffalo today. Mandatory happiness.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

The Mirror Breaks

Did an interview with Mike Davies today for BBC Radio 1 Punk Show and ended up talking about this song. I love The Mob...



More Lyrics...

For those of you who are interested, here are the lyrics to "One By One" and "Bitter Divisions". Not sure if anyone out there will catch the reference, but if you're wondering, yes that is a Civil Disobedience (the Havoc Records band, not Thoreau) quote in "Bitter Divisions"...


One By One

I feel the ground moving under my feet, all I know is where I don’t belong.
I’m not interested in sticking around just for the sake of a good time.
Houses rotting from the the inside out and everybody’s pissed out of their fucking minds.
Are you seriously talking to me about community?

One by one, shoot off my fingers one by one.
Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?
When the rebels lose the spirit of rebellion.

You’ve got nowhere left to go.
But I know I’m not alone.

We are defined by what we stand against and the weight of unfulfilled expectations. This culture that threatens to engulf you, is this anyway to go about fighting it?
I don’t want to be born again, I don’t need anybody to speak for me.
I’m not interested in humoring illusions or apologizing for the sake of sentiment.

One by one, shoot off my fingers one by one.
Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?
When the rebels lose the spirit of rebellion.

You’ve got nowhere left to go.
But I know I’m not alone.


Bitter Divisions

Transcendent fear in the 21st century. Lost in psychic dire straights. With our enemies decided and our battlefields celebrated, "we walk with faith not sight".

How can we heal these bitter divisions?
How can we overcome our mutual distrust?
How can we heal these bitter divisions?
How can we reconcile our differences?

Mass hysteria in an age of delusion. Intellectualism surrenders to ineptitude. No love lost, no love gained, no common understanding. Head strong and determined, self obsessed with calloused indifference.

How can we heal these bitter divisions?
How can we overcome our mutual distrust?
How can we heal these bitter divisions?
How can we reconcile our differences?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Rotting Guts

It's the caffeine, I can't sleep because of the caffeine. So I give up trying to fall asleep for the time being and pour myself a glass of cheap wine. Last night I dreamt that I couldn't stop eating bits of chopped up guitar strings. I could feel all the metal weighing heavier and heavier deep in my guts, I knew it wasn't good, but I couldn't stop myself.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Medicine Hat, AB

Our video for "Rapid Decompression" premiered today on Aol Video. Here's a link for anyone who wants to check out...
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/rapid-decompression/2834887318

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Lethbridge, AB

Our new album "White Crosses" leaked. No drama. For those of you who have heard it and would like to read the lyrics, here you go!

1. White Crosses

I wake up in the morning and I drink from the fountain.
I wake up in the morning with the same unanswered questions.
I don’t know what’s going to cure my unsettled stomach.
Street kids collect spare change in a conch shell on the side walk; their teeth are yellow, their hair is tangled.
Their minds are vapid and they laugh wild in their depravity.

I’ll make my way back home to you, head north on San Marco Avenue.
White crosses on the church lawn, I want to smash them all.
I want to smash them all.

Pony tails swinging back and forth behind beach blonde college girls out for a jog.
Saint Augustine, shine your light down on me!
Pop hits from the 90’s echo out of tourist filled bars.
I am met with arms crossed under dirty looks, I am treated like a common thief.

I’ll make my way back home to you, head north on San Marco Avenue.
White crosses on the church lawn, I want to smash them all.
I want to smash them all.

Eaves-dropping in on conversation, I wander aimless leering at strangers.
Strung out on the amphetamines that you gave to me.
Eye-balled with suspicion by a pencil skirt in high heels, you realize that you’re talking to yourself.
Cannon fire explodes out over the bay.

I’ll make my way back home to you, head north on San Marco Avenue.
White crosses on the church lawn, I want to smash them all.
Looking for context and perspective, looking for some kind of distraction.
White crosses on the church lawn, I want to smash them all.
I want to smash them all.

2. I Was A Teenage Anarchist

I was a teenage anarchist, looking for a revolution. I had the style, I had the ambition. I read all the authors, I knew the right slogans. There was no war but the class war. I was ready to set the world on fire. I was a teenage anarchist, looking for a revolution.

Do you remember when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?

I was a teenage anarchist, but the politics were too convenient. In the depths of their humanity all I saw was bloodless ideology. And with freedom as the doctrine, guess who was the new authority? I was a teenage anarchist, but the politics were too convenient.

Do you remember when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?

I was a teenage anarchist, but then the scene got too rigid. It was a mob mentality, they set their rifle sights on me. Narrow visions of autonomy, you want me to surrender my identity. I was a teenage anarchist, the revolution was a lie.

Do you remember when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?

I was a teenage anarchist.

3. Because Of The Shame

We used to get high together, instead of getting high alone. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. I can’t remember the last time we talked. You left home for a fresh start, working as a waitress down in Bradenton. With my name tattoo’d into your skin.

Because of the shame I associate with vulnerability I am numbing myself completely.
Can you hear me right now?
I watched your mother bury you today, with tears in her eyes.
It wasn’t her words that shook me, it was the resemblance you shared.

Don’t it feel so detached and unreal? Don’t it seem so far away? Like the past never happened, or like nothings ever changed. With your casket open in front of me, your eyes closed and your lips silent. With my name tattoo’d into your skin.

Because of the shame I associate with vulnerability I am numbing myself completely.
Can you hear me right now?
I watched your mother bury you today, with tears in her eyes.
It wasn’t her words that shook me, it was the resemblance you shared.

I didn’t listen to the preacher. I couldn’t look your husband in the eyes. I’m not sure what I meant to you then, so I’m not sure what I owe you now. But if something I said hurt you I swear it was not my intention. With your name tattoo’d into my skin.

Because of the shame I associate with vulnerability I am numbing myself completely.
Can you hear me right now?
I watched your mother bury you today, with tears in her eyes.
It wasn’t her words that shook me, it was the resemblance you shared.

4. Suffocation

We were young heartbreakers estranged from our wealthy parents, doing key bumps in a handicap bathroom.
Stoned complacent, ambivalent, mass communicating with shared subconscious.

Suffocation.
Modern life in the western world.

Homosexual sons of unfulfilled fathers.
Divorced from reality, free and young.
We were bashing our brains out on a kitchen cabinet.
It was a televised crucifixion.

Suffocation.
Modern life in the western world.

We were star-crossed, we were destitute.
Our words spoke mass destruction.
We watched the sun rise in the morning.
Daughters in arm, we all are orphans.

Suffocation.
Modern life in the western world.

In the western world.

5. We’re Breaking Up

This is the only voice I know.
These are the only words I have.
This is the only way I know how to say, we’re not in love anymore.

It’s the same way that it’s always been, the dynamic to the relationship never changes.
It’s the same way that it’s always been, the dynamic to the relationship never changes.

We used to like all the same bands.
We used to have all the same friends.
What do we have left in common?
Just shared memories of good times long since past.

It’s the same way that it’s always been, the dynamic to the relationship never changes.
It’s the same way that it’s always been, the dynamic to the relationship never changes.
You can’t get what you want from me, and I can’t get what I need from you.

This is the only voice I know.
These are the only words I have.
This is the only way I know how to say, we're breaking up.

It’s the same way that it’s always been.
It’s the same way that it’s always been.
I’m not giving up on us.
I’m not giving up on us.

6. High Pressure Low

There was a high pressure low developing off the coast of Africa, uplift in the atmosphere pushed waves across the ocean towards Antilles and Bon Air. I paced in Agitation. I drew the curtains closed. I turned the air conditioner on. I pressed a warm wash cloth to my face. Somewhere out there a hurricane was coming.

There’s just no future left for us to dream of,
living in an era of instability.
So caught up in the culture of their rivals,
fear breeds in honest men.
It’s a high pressure low.

7 missiles flying over the sea of japan. Tales of feral children sleeping in wolf dens. And the pious preacher commands. I hold my breath in anticipation. Into the shelter of the jungle noble savages run. Vestal virgins triumph over life long inhibitions. And I wonder, what is real? What is fiction?

There’s just no future left for us to dream of,
living in an era of instability.
So caught up in the culture of their rivals,
fear breeds in honest men.
It’s a high pressure low.

Would anyone forgive Robert McNamara? In retrospect he had to admit; there was mistake in going to war without first asking all the questions.
Yes, Robert Strange McNamara, there are those who just cannot forget. And I wonder, have I lost my own compassion?

There’s just no future left for us to dream of,
living in an era of instability.
So caught up in the culture of their rivals,
fear breeds in honest men.
It’s a high pressure low.

7. Ache With Me

I’ve walked down high streets looking through windows.
I’ve been lost in crowds of strangers.
Searched record shops and cosmetic aisles, phone books, want ads, bus stops and libraries.
Newspaper headlines, mannequin faces, television stations, billboard advertisements.
Your voice echos in the back of my mind.
I see your face when I close my eyes.

Do you share the same sense of defeat?
Have you realized all the things you’ll never be?
Ideals turn to resentment, open minds close up with cynicism.
I’ve got no judgement for you.
Come on and ache with me.

Through bar rooms, cafés, jail cells and court rooms. Theaters, restaurants, graveyards and churches. I’ve spent every dollar that I’ve ever earned. I’ll bleed my heart out, I’ll give every word. I’ve asked preachers, doctors and lawyers, socialites, pariahs, mothers and fathers. You may not find all that you’re after, in the end I hope it doesn’t matter.

Do you share the same sense of defeat?
Have you realized all the things you’ll never be?
Ideals turn to resentment, open minds close up with cynicism.
I’ve got no judgement for you.
Come on and ache with me.

Do you share the same sense of defeat?
Have you realized all the things you’ll never be?
I’ve got no judgement for you.
Come on and ache with me.

8. Spanish Moss

You just need to find some place to get away.
You can forget your name.
And there’s no need to apologize.

It could be a good life.
It could be such a very good life.
We could find a place for just me and you.
Need some place to stay safe, need some place to stay safe and warm.
Why don’t we deserve the same?

You just need to find some place to get away.
You can forget your name.
And there’s no need to apologize.

Look into the Spanish moss.
Let your mind conjure up old ghosts.
Ride you bike through lost Florida streets.
Everything we’ve said and done, can be so easily forgotten.
You can always change who you are.

You just need to find some place to get away.
You can forget your name.
And there’s no need to apologize.

I caught a glimpse of this life, it could be such a very good life.
We could find a place for just me and you.
But it’s not yours to keep.
Yeah, the truth will tear your heart out.
In a world run by gangsters you’re stuck standing in a bread line.

You just need to find some place to get away.
You can forget your name.
And there’s no need to apologize.

9. Rapid Decompression

How much is too much?
I’m tired of predicting to lose.
But before you point your finger, before you cast your stones, take a look at yourself.
How can you expect from someone what you won’t do yourself?

There’s no bottom to your reality.
Your desperation is utter and complete.
What you can’t love about yourself you have to steal from someone else; and what you can’t steal you have to deny.

Rapid Decompression.
Sometimes it feels like your whole world is coming to an end.

10. Bamboo Bones

Don’t let them break you.
Don’t let them tell you who you are.
Doesn’t matter where you come from,
you'll always have a floor to sleep on.
And you have your bamboo bones,
nervous energy,
blind ambition,
skin of your teeth.
Push back, push back, push back,
with every word and every breath.

What god doesn’t give to you,
you’ve got to go and get for yourself.

I’m embarrassed to admit it,
I’ve got no grip.
I’m leading with my jaw.
Can you see it from a distance?
Does it look ridiculous?
I guess that’s just what I have to live with.
Still I have a mind to think,
knees to break,
you standing beside me.
I’m going to push back, push back, push back,
with every word and every breath.

What god doesn’t give to you,
you’ve got to go and get for yourself.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Feb. 17th - Jacksonville Beach, FL




Just arrived here in Jacksonville Beach a couple minutes ago. As I type the stage is being set up for soundcheck. I can't tell you all how good it feels to be back out on the road. The wheels are finally in motion! To everyone who plans on coming out to see us live over the next couple months I want to say that we're super excited to share our new songs with you. It looks like White Crosses is hopefully going to be coming out in early June, we'll have an exact date and more details soon. But in the meantime I want to share the official cover art, by Steak Mtn. with everyone. If anyone's interested in checking out more of Steak Mtn.'s art you can do so here.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Little Boomey


My favourite new cheap red wine. Available for only $6.49 at 7-11.