Cutoff (Split)

by An Historic

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1.
02:30
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2.
04:04
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3.
03:36
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4.
04:00
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5.
03:31
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6.
03:27
7.
03:28
8.
02:37
9.
03:43
10.
02:34

about

These songs were all born somewhere between Brattleboro, VT and
Halifax, NS on a tour with Mallory (R.I.P./Long Live). It was my first
tour ever and it was good to share it with such a crew, but it
also gave me a ton to think about, some of which these songs were
written to address. I wrote and recorded the skeletons of these really
fast, then let them stew for while and finally came back to them early last December. I tried to get back to basics but still ended up with songs I can’t really perform solo, with one exception. In looking back at them, the lyrics hit some kind of apocalyptic chord that constantly resonates with me. Cud’s last album, Fiver’s Warning, made me feel about the same way, some combination of melancholy, paranoid and relaxed that is doomed to be my life. Seemed like a natural fit.

Thanks to: Cud for enabling me, Niko for geeking out with me about Philip Glass, Mallory for playing along with me on tour and champagning the pain away, Haley for being an awesome tour buddy, everybody at the Roarphanage for putting us up/up with us and organizing a great fest, Halifax the city for being the backdrop of a really compelling nightmare about the apocalypse, Mogli and Story for getting me to think about hows and whys of writing songs on the accordion, Rowan for some real nerdy chats about songwriting in general, and anyone who lent me their ears during the super tedious mixing process (during which I realized I am terrible at mixing.)

These songs recorded between June 20th-30th on various pianos at the Neighborhood Music School in New Haven, CT, with additional recording done between December 2nd and 5th in my DEN of SORROW, New Haven, CT.

for more info visit anhistoricmusic.blogspot.com or email weillwedance@gmail.com

credits

released 07 October 2011
Adam Matlock - Piano, Vocals, Accordion, weird production.


Tracks 1-3, 5 by Adam Matlock
Track 4 by System of a Down (Tankian/Malakian, shhhhh!!)

tags

tags: accordion an historic apocalypse avant-garde folk piano songwriting ambient avant-garde electroacoustic songwriter New Haven

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about

Matlock writes increasingly narrative and frenzied songs under the name An Historic, and dark ambient music under the alias G. Zarapanecko, and frequently writes and performs compositions under his own name solo or with
various partners or small ensembles. Matlock can also be seen performing with free improv trio Broadcloth and avant-traditionalists Dr. Caterwaul’s Cadre of
Clairvoyant Claptraps. ... more

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Track Name: A Good Idea At The Time
I want something great
Instead of the lukewarm life of
Day old coffee
Sad attempts at negotiation
Talk like we’re crossing oceans
But we can’t swim this pond

Thought I gave it all I had
Didn’t notice the camera pull back
And reveal my futility
Trying to hold up a pillar
When a building collapses around me.

But it seemed like a good idea at the time

Tried to take control
dabbled in some magicks beyond my scope and
bandaging wounds that need air
navigate places aetheric
all over my head.

But it seemed like a good idea at the time

Will I will myself to higher mountains?
Stay at a job til it’s all that I know?
Or struggle through crippling bouts of everything,
Waiting for the change that will make me whole?

I don't know where to look.
Track Name: This Dream I had Twice
Your family's mouths are spitting tiny brimstone pebbles
in every panic-struck direction
every fresh uncertainty leaves us with
no choice but packing up three years of weighted memories
in a van with perfect strangers
trying to get ahead of the mob
I realize that we forgot your mother's bracelet
when it became too late to change our
ways to be accepted into the kingdom
now the clock in the dashboard flies toward me
like these endless yellow lines----

A road
that carries
endless futures down the way
a throne
inhabited
by tyrants, cruelest sentiments
we've got
to hope
my engine will hold til the border
so we can prove they don't exist.

I want nothing more than to drive this flaming car into the
Station where the floodgates hold back
People looking for a break
But these dogs don’t look too friendly
And these cops have assumptions
And I’ve got dreams to keep me going, through holding and interrogation
But we’re not held too long, we talk real nice
And wash our faces with bottled water
Keep our stories straight and pass this nervous test
As we drive away the mob streams in
One thousand bodies crush this barricade.
Track Name: Skies Denied
We sit across the room
in deepest water pressure
staring back through miles of history
that we tried to navigate

we made the map in a classroom
cut each clue in tiny chairs with giant scissors
threw them like bones
upon a square of asphalt

we received images of our deaths
wandering toward the corners
holding on to hope in barren lands
until the final moment

and then we opened our eyes
and we denied that we were dreaming
it all felt so close to home
resigned to drowning out at sea

I swam by reefs, I ran through
forests fed on bones and ashes
And skies denied of stars
Always chasing opportunities
For answers quicker and more empty
Than our hearts right now
Let someone get joy
Out of their watching every
Stumbled drunken step towards, or away.
Escorted by devils on both shoulders
Tell me just another mile
Every mile that I go
Track Name: Spiders
(c)1998 System of a Down.
Track Name: I'll Regret This Tattoo When You Regret Ending The World
it's that time of day when the bombs decide to fall
in the light from their burst you can see
reflections of the city on a crawling slick of oil on the ground

day in and day out we repeat this test
wait for the volley to end and we can
search these spineless buildings for supplies to last another week

one morning you declare that you are sick
of end of the world routines, it's like having a job
we didn't wait this long to be slaves to people we can't see

We've got friends on an island somewhere north of here
we take the salvaged truck to try and
catch a ferry, catch a break and catch a possibility.

if the paper was on fire
would you still write on it
maybe you’d find something
a little more permanent

we're just a couple of young fools
drawing on each other's skin
to commemorate
the beginning of the end
left home, searching round the bend
for chapters that are yet to come
It's gotta be better
than waiting for the bombs.

This record began with fragments on your neck
An image from before we couldn’t let it go
I steadied my hand, washed the dirt from your skin

It was a morning two days after I arrived
We listened to the radio and it
Told us tension troops amassing borders are your nightmares

And two strangers embraced in the parking lot that night
I think the street was watching through their
Windows; hours later, the first bomb exploded.

In sterile moments we etched chapters, images
Chronology of cataclysmic
Moments we had wanted, and now we’re not so sure

I think this meditation brings me peace of mind,
But that’s another story for another time.