The Flaming Lips, The Killers, The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, The Talking Heads, The Beatles, David Bowie, Electric Light Orchestra, Modest Mouse, Primitive Radio Gods, The Stone Roses, Peter Gabriel, Grant Lee Buffalo, Primus, Daniel Lanois, Brian Eno
Sounds Like
6 things that sound like us:
Propane gas canisters exploding.
An eclectic mix of genres revolving around the fundamentals of Psychedelic Noise Rock.
The death of a good machine. :(
A musician that got way too drunk and started fuckin' 'round on his guitar after watching U.F.O.s at the zoo on DVD.
Forty antique Victrolas playing simultaneously while being crushed under a symbolic CD-enabled Jukebox.
Your mom (who, as a matter-of-fact, went to college)
I would have you anytime he said as the door closed on the opportunity. Too late, he thought as the cold sharp air started to blow in behind him. Pulling backwards and falling, yielding, quite confused in the motion of the things he one put to dust.
I lust for the texture that invigorates soul,
I lust for the reasons that penetrate.
I hunger for change for the sake of the motion,
I am lost but I've only been in my place.
This is so much bigger than you think, this runs so much deeper than a simple surge of rain. And my mask hides so well the face that I don't recognize, but the story is done, at least there is that.
The grass is wet beneath my feet, the fog is so thick you can taste, the things that we said make no sense out of place, did they ever have a place at all?
There should be a solution to all we've done up, this puzzle I've made of obsession. A simpler time when I gave all I had to stay hidden and to shrink into a corner, and never say a word. In lust of texture I came to the front and called out in rhythm to the gauntlet I had to run, and run to catch up, and make heal all the harm that I've done.
