1. |
Geicsman's Youth
03:43
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The tequila left us shaking as we walked away from the car we crashed into a cedar tree just south of the Potomac. And by the time we'd sobered up I had landed back home in Chicago and you were waiting for the bus to Paris Island, South Carolina.
Summers drift like a gasoline haze and beneath the burned out skylights of Seaside Heights, the girls are streaming clothes into the Atlantic. And we're just trying not to talk about the prosthetic leg the government says is unrelated to the Purple Heart you've got locked inside the glove box of your Ford.
In the dark, where the roller coaster used to shine, you said "Hey Mike, do you remember when we used to drive the hills of our home town, just listening to Hearts of Oak, talking about how it was we wanted to live?" I said "Isn't it sick we're just growing old in these dive bars, murmuring while nostalgia festering in dried up hormones, working dead-end jobs until we grow numb?" You said "We don't need to live like that, I wake up every morning and I thank God for these calloused hands, these lungs full of smoke and oxygen."
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2. |
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Buck short for the bus ride, I'm walking home on the West Side. Melanin, I cant hide. Undercovers arrive. Son, have you ever done drugs? Geic'd eyes, that's me. Sixteen on picture ID. Hide my little hands. White man on Kimball and Grand.
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3. |
Disappointer
03:25
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I check my visage in the bathroom mirror. I do the dishes to temper my shakes. I sit down and I write you a letter. I throw it away, I don't have a word to say. Sable sky I rise and shine to leave. When I get home everyone's asleep. Clock becomes the pulse inside of me. Sacrifice to subsidize a dream. Christmas lights do a lot for me. Shivering on Malort and ecstasy. Hallucinate. I'm a bad bad sleeper. I'm seeing ghosts like every night. I used to run from my mother's father. Now it's too late, his face laminates my mind. Hide behind the restaurant to clear smoke, held down for seven years. I cannot remember getting here. February, looming in the dark. Why'd you tell me I was smart? Disapponter, always in your heart. Holes, I burn into my pockets. Sew them back with overtime. And if you want to count the hours I log, just look into my eyes. Bradley International alone. New time zones for anxious bones. Take my ticket bozo. Take me home. Cast aside the coast. The sound recedes. New canals, run fast and free. Dig to bring Atlantic back to me.
credits
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4. |
Dude, Peyton Manning
03:41
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Six years old, mud on my knees, I planted a fir tree outside my elementary school. I wanted to go back when I was twenty-two, see just how much it had grown. Well I did and now it's a parking lot, but that's okay, that's okay. I spent most my time since then in parking lots anyway. Who am I to say "Fuck progress and fuck the suits?" Man, they pay my bills, I just do what they say, they pay my bills.
Teresa's cousin walks through the door carrying Jersey rain and a smell I can't place. She sits next to Stephen, asks for a clipboard, he shrugs and she nods out. They're looking at me, but I can't seem that much better, after all, I can't throw no football, I've never ridden in a Cadillac. I'm just a well trained office monkey, getting pretty good at Microsoft Excel. All my heroes when I was younger are just overgrown boys.
And when they killed John Henry, they gave us Bud Light and football, said, "Boy, if you don't feel like a man, well you can take this paper here, and you can sign on the dotted line. You can sign on the dotted dotted line. And when you get back you're hanging at the corner bar with all your old friends. Men with camo baseball caps are gonna buy you all the drinks until you can't stand. And if that ain't enough for you, its track marks outside the liquor store. And that's the end of you."
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Two Houses Chicago
Triumphant sad bastard music. Reliable rock n' roll.
Two Houses recommends:
The worst band on earth.
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Sass Dragons once played the basement of a house we lived in and I saw Jimmy's dick and also the porch collapsed. This record is great.
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The boys. Our boys. We did a split with them. Both of their LPs are damn fine.
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A three piece band that does their own thing and remains as some of the nicest and most talented folks in Chicago. No other band mixes stories about day jobs, drinking, and life so well.
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Fantastic recording quality! Brother and Sham King are instant classics, and I love the Wipers cover.
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Jangly, slick pop rock has shades of early Bangles and the Pandoras.
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