1. |
Morning Clover
03:54
|
|||
|
Waking up, that stiffness in my arms
starts to fade into a mottled map of scars.
Kick the blinds and kill the damn alarm –
I’m alive, I am loved and lit by lucky stars.
Take an easy pull of country air.
Twenty months back, I’d be falling down the stairs.
Saving daylight is going out of style;
good for me this town’s a bit behind the times.
Split my lips in fallow fields and only
fill my fists with hollyhock and oak leaves.
All good things grow first inside your head ‘cause
God could break your legs or
break your arms instead
but probably not both.
Off the beat, we’re howling out “The Weight”
when, in time, you turn and ask if you can stay.
Just as Luke waits out the judgement day,
I’ve a choice - to open up or fade away.
Split my lips in fallow fields and only
fill my fists with hollyhock and oak leaves.
All good things grow first inside your head ‘cause
God could break your legs or
break your arms instead
but probably not both.
I’ve been looking all over (aye) for you, morning clover.
|
||||
2. |
Wish I Knew You Then
04:14
|
|||
|
I wish I knew you then,
When the matador waved you in,
Back when we were still infinite
I was just figuring you out
Terrorizing china shops,
Chasing around rodeo clowns,
Just a slave to your instincts
They’re so god damn pure,
That was who we were
I wish I knew you then,
Back when you would pretend,
I wish I knew you then,
Oh, I wish I knew.
I wish that I knew you then.
How much, better, do you know me?
Now that, you are, older
When the night comes, there’s a place you go
To strut around with all the Bandarillas in tow.
But when the day breaks to light up our mistakes,
I can meet you.
I wish I knew you then,
Down at the strip mall Cineplex,
Workin days until they turn red,
Then repeat it again and again
Baby, we were gonna raze this town,
Burn it all to the ground,
We were coming unwound
I wish I knew you then,
Back when you would pretend,
I wish I knew you then,
Oh, I wish I knew.
How much, better, do you know me?
How much better? Show me.
When the night comes, there’s a place you go
To strut around with all the Bandarillas in tow.
But when the day breaks to light up our mistakes,
I can meet you.
I wish I knew you then,
But I’m glad I know you now,
It’s a young man’s accident
You’ll find it’ll never be enough
I know you refuse
To correct yourself, you want to be anyone else
I know you refuse,
But here we are.
|
||||
3. |
Carry Us
03:57
|
|||
|
Write an Odyssey.
We’ll fill it with the places
we have never been
and then walk away -
“I wish that we could stay.”
Hands are wet and worn
from digging through the sand
along a ruddy southern shore.
And then walk away -
“I wish that we could stay,
just another day.”
Each one’s painting a colourful mess
of dawn as she starts to undress.
I’m shaking the frost off my breath
to ask you to carry us through.
Ill and tired, but still
we're laughing as we dance
across a salamander rill.
And then walk away -
“I wish that we could stay,
just another day.”
Each one’s knocking the ink off the desk.
She’ll cover the sky with what’s left.
I’m shaking the frost of my breath
to offer to carry us through.
Each one tipping a little bit west
‘till all of us fall off the edge.
I’m shaking the frost of my breath
to ask you to carry us through.
|
||||
4. |
Crush You
05:07
|
|||
|
I could take you out
Out on the town,
I could walk you home and
Tell you lies about myself
We’ll wrestle with the thought
Then surrender to the dark
Wake up in the morning and question
Who we are.
Oh god am I a piece of shit?
How do we come back from this?
It’s not alright
We’re laying on the dock
You’re closer to my heart than I thought
I would let you in,
But you are taken
Then you turn to me
Drenched in kerosene
Pressing flint to steel
And we are on fire
Oh god am I a piece of shit?
How do we come back from this?
My chest is in a fit
So I’ll crush you over it
I’m afraid of what you’ll see
When I drag you down with me
I will take you down
And I will let you drown
Only if you want me
Only if you do
Oh you asked to meet with me,
Down the street, by the old tree
You asked
How do we get over this?
|
||||
5. |
Carolina
04:32
|
|||
|
There’s a cardinal,
red wings trimmed with cardamom fringes,
making a nest of old photography
in the attic that you willed to me.
With herculean force
I attack a stack of texts.
There’s “Intro to the Civil War,”
and “State Birds” circa ’64.
How long have you gone
collecting dusty old idiosyncrasies
in notebooks full of odd locutions,
8th note jokes and Wrong Solutionstm
(syndicated)?
They’re filling up my head.
I’m cramming for each exam you wrote
until all my taxonomies are reversed.
cardinalis
Cardinalidae
Now, delicately from the air,
the bird alights upon a set
of poetry by Service
(missing only Sam McGee) and there
amidst a copse of calendars,
a scribbled note reads unreserved
“I’ll not surrender quietly
and I will not go alone.”
From the guide that I found,
I pull the title around
and drag a finger down the continental
fourty-eight to find a state or town.
Carolina.
|
||||
6. |
Whole
05:30
|
|||
|
There’s a hole where I put it
There’s a hole where it stays
All of my weakness
All of my shame
But wait, I’m awake
For the first time in days
Rubbing my eyes to adjust to the light
As I climb out of this hole I made
I’m giving up, on giving up.
All that I wanted, was to be whole
All that I wanted, was your love to hold
All that I wanted, was to be whole
Hey, are you there? On the phone?
“yeah, you’ll soon be home son, you’ll soon be home.”
Headed North on the backroads
Towards my old family farm
On the phone with my father
The sunset on my left arm
“But wait, can’t you stay?
I’ve been driving alone all day,
Spilling my guts to passing transport trucks and the dashboard,
So let me explain.
I’m giving up, on giving up.
All that I wanted, was to be whole
All that I wanted, was your love to hold
All that I wanted, was to be whole
“Hey, are you there? On the phone?”
“yeah, you’ll soon be home son, you’ll soon be home.”
|
||||
7. |
Chewing Up Glass
03:38
|
|||
|
Oh my god…
Square up at the line and then drop our gloves
to turn around and pick them back up again.
Take green eyes and blacken them.
“Oh my god, can you cry a little quieter?”
Slip inside, hit pause, and check the monitor.
Sleepy sighs leak down from the second floor
and pool in the walls.
Every day is enough - (it’s enough?)
until everything is a long-winded boxing match.
We go spitting out fists and chewing up glass.
Every day is enough,
until everything is a long-winded boxing match.
Oh my god… Light up another cigarette.
Hold my breath in french, and try to tally up
every slight or slander -
but we could sort columns out of our rows.
Pack my things. Get high behind the cinema.
Knock one back, and bail before it settles in.
Head up north, pull in to the farm and then
cut the locks off the doors.
Every day is enough - (it’s enough?)
until everything is a long-distance boxing match.
We go spitting out fists and chewing up glass.
Every day is enough,
until everything is a long-distance boxing match.
I’m just ducking out on all of the consequences.
I know that you’re right.
Every day is enough - (it’s enough?)
until everything is a long-winded boxing match.
We go spitting out fists and chewing up glass.
Every day is enough,
until everything is a long-distance boxing match.
|
||||
8. |
Wooden Boy
05:13
|
|||
|
I’m a wooden boy,
a wasted toy,
a faded figurine that bleeds patchouli rose.
And I’ve fallen off the shelf by the front door
while staring up
at china cups.
With all the empty half-assed toasts they’ve given up,
you might think of all the wasted years you’ve won.
You might think a thing, but then think another one.
Pass out sitting on the lip of the bottom step.
I’m dragging out the year, on a cigarette.
It’s always easier to stay put, waiting out the day like a silhouette.
I’m dragging out the year. But whether it’s a month, or a day,
or a frame’s length of captured light,
something ain’t right.
I’m a crooked pose
in canvas prose.
An oil painting with a watercolour voice.
And I’m begging to be taken off the wall.
So box me up
with plastic cups
for a tour of duty in a bin collecting dust.
You might try to start again in years to come.
You might try a thing, and then try another one.
Pass out sitting on the lip of the bottom step.
I’m dragging out the year, on a cigarette.
It’s always easier to stay put, waiting out the day like a silhouette.
I’m dragging out the year. But whether it’s a month, or a day,
or a frame’s length of captured light,
something ain’t right.
|
||||
9. |
Welcome to the End
05:35
|
|||
|
“Wake up.”
And with an elbow to the ribs I do.
There’s a lovely rattle as the van door
slides open to release us.
And we all lined up,
our back against the trunk,
and we strained our eyes
to compete with the sunrise
on this pit stop town.
But we can’t stick around to find out
what’s in the light.
In a rest stop living room
we brush our teeth
and watch the news on tape
while two long-haul truckers debate
whether to ease in to the race
or just hurry-up-and-wait.
There’s a caffeine Jackson Pollock
evaporating on the counter
in every shade of brown.
“Piss and a coffee eh?”
says the man up front.
It’s a greasy play - a 20 minute day.
And we all lined up
our back against the sun
as we headed west.
The welcome sign suggests
we should come back soon.
Just stick around and you’ll find out
who’s in the light.
It’s a town that even Timmy’s forgot,
with the ingredients of a teenage joke:
-Duct Tape
-Spray Paint
-The same 4 movies that play everywhere
“Where are we?”
“The sign just says
Welcome to the End.”
|
||||
Long Range Hustle Toronto, Ontario
If you’re new to a Long Range Hustle show, it only takes a minute to feel how their contagious energy connects with everyone in the room. From a sweat soaked club to a breezy festival stage, Long Range Hustle brings the warm infectious melodies, driving rhythms, and gorgeous harmonies, in spades. ... more
If you like Long Range Hustle, you may also like:
This NYC quartet channels the anxious, experimental nature of late '90s-early '00s Olympia indie rock in their tense, rhythmic post-punk.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Nov 1, 2016
go to album
The experimental UK artist's latest album is decidedly genre-agnostic.
go to album
The Architect of the Ruin
by Toad the Wet Sprocket
Long-running 4-piece, who were early Bandcamp adopters, return to their ’90s melodic, alt-rock form.
go to album
Cardiff band Red Telephone can't disguise the pure pop sensibility in their blistering alt-rock songs.
go to album
Crunchy hard rock from Copenhagen with copious killer riffs and the rugged sensibility of Motörhead.
go to album
Remember Never Before
by July Talk
The Canadian indie rock group asks listeners "who are you" on an album that is about acceptance at its core.
go to album
