1. |
Pop
03:45
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Twenty dollars spent online, the show's tonight, it's my first time, I think I'll buy a concert tee
Tour dates printed on the back, a pin for my backpack, a jagged autograph, it's the only things that's on my mind.
Watch him revel in, the sound. This prophet will astound.
And if they play my favorite song, I might lose it. Better pack a camera, better pack a pair of shoes torn in the sole.
I've waited since the album dropped, they play that riff and I might pop
What's the view from the stage, a blissful haze, tensions raised.
Hold the crowd in your hand, you're the man, and you're greater than.
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2. |
The Line
03:12
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Independents in line, many ones of a kind
Did I miss the email, an urban outfitters sale
Your vintage sweater cries, I am so DIY
Encased in cowhide, the wails of MC Ride
You try your hardest to be, the boys on Audiotree
(You're such a hypocrite, look at your outfit)
Well that's the line between Mac Demarco and me, I don't wear overalls, what's with the overalls, should I wear overalls?
Shuffling through narrow streets, trailed by basement heat
Our future CEOs, trapped in dollar shows
They dress pretty tight, for some Brooklynites
Except the overalls, what's with the overalls
Take the regional rail, the Cheast reeks of ale
(You're such a hypocrite, I mean what do you drink then)
Well that's the line between counterculture and me, I don't drink pbr, what's with the pbr, should I drink pbr?
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3. |
Will Call
05:20
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Woopty-doo, you've got 42 YouTube views with reverb soaked guitars, it takes more to be avant-garde
We're stage diving into the dirt, tell your friends that we did it first, or don't and try your hand
Motifs, shades of gray. You've got nothing to say, thank god you're in a band.
Because you play in a garage, in Lower Merion, you think you're Modern Baseball
And if you keep it on the ground, you think that you'll be found, by aesthetics you are bound
Beauty doesn't exist beyond our calluses, art in garages not in palaces
Used to save our dimes, by stacking wood for studio time.
But now we chop trees down, three boys in the forest make a sound
Drums booming, flipping the phase, recording useless waves, building a concert hall
Thinking that we practiced enough, the other bands are better than us, we're playing at the mall
Art is not about, what's out of reach. You're squinting in the sun, you're too afraid to grab it
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4. |
Drunk
01:16
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5. |
Post-Pop
05:35
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Everyone's entitled to their opinion, unless you like alt-j then get out
I like Mac Demarco but I hate his fans, by the way have you seen my new red vans
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6. |
Break At Any Point
04:08
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Thoreau didn't live on Walden Pond. PWR BTTM's still writing songs.
Does sorry cut it, can the grotesque harmonize?
Do only weeds grow from soiled minds?
But who is deserving of fame? Should have gotten ten years instead got critically acclaimed.
How much does the picture rely on the frame?
Forms carved out of brimstone. You say you don't like them, you listen alone.
Our caped crusader, caught telling lies, caught being the bad guy, it tore us up inside.
No junk, no soul.
Does iron maintain the stains of its mold?
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7. |
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(incoherent)
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8. |
What We Have So Far
05:37
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A homely walk, just past five o'clock, a clump of dust from southern Vermont.
Our new hearts sprawled on the table, a step ahead of what we were able to do.
Your guitar's out of tune.
Welcome to our hall of fame, where all the songs sound the same, by a narcissist, a control freak, and a crybaby.
Despite the excitement of the release date, our debut album only got 42 plays.
Our sophomore effort chiseled out of stone.
A re-congregation four years overgrown.
This statue of David, crafted by one mind.
First a cluster of cables, then the precision of lines.
Welcome to our concert hall, a symphony, a free-for-all, by a narcissist, a control freak, and a crybaby
So congratulations, you're the 42nd listener to this song, if you've even made it this far.
Workers their cold sting, to serve. The Queen of the Bugs with fervor.
Breaking Vinyl, Queen of our hive. A small hive, but the workers survive.
Jagged lines, and crooked spines, music of many kinds garnished with lime.
I feel small, I feel I must erect a wall.
Stardust doesn't care at all, but I create the obligation.
What matters not is the nation, the time, whether it's lemon or lime.
As long as the blaze thrusts its ego into the air, ignorant to its dwindling, impartial to stares.
For our sake, for our sake, remember to spit sparks when your tounge coats in ash.
We hope you feel better, after attending or mass
Go in peace
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Breaking Vinyl Rutland, Vermont
Indie rock from Rutland, Vermont.
Brendan Wright- vocals, guitar, bass
Jordan Tanen- vocals, guitar, drums, bass
Noah Tanen- vocals, bass, drums
Find us on Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube
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