Aroomnoonesees

by Teen Brigade

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    Teen Brigade is something lame, tired and wild that wants to break free from digital constraints.

    Daily, sounds are recorded internally and externally through people and machines, creating sonic inconsistency. To say the music of Teen Brigade bridges a gap of the human portrayal of audible consumption is a gross overstatement.

    Live sound is awkward, unnerving; pop sensibilities are played as hymns seeking to be heard as comforting. In reality, they are the eccentricity of cultural pastiche.

    When one hears the famous lyrics to the Beatles, “Drive My Car”, an objective assessment is automatically calculated based on social impact. To mock such a significant song is a form of de-canonizing and deconstruction.

    The electro-blues of white males bleed in oscillating and enigmatic self-awareness –a solidified reconstrontuction of broken form mirrored from social norms and worn-out grooves of empirical nothing-know-hows.

    Teen Brigade is the vibrating toothbrush or the mechanical vanity of overriding necessity for unnecessary simplicity, never to be anything more than unintentional.
    ... more

     

1.
02:34
2.
01:39
3.
05:00
4.
03:53
5.
02:55
6.
02:38
7.
05:18
8.
03:13
9.
02:27
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
01:47
15.
16.

credits

released February 4, 2011

tags

tags: pop voice Indiana

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Teen Brigade Indiana

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Track Name: Snowmen Piss
Cock your head to the right
Powder blue; crystal white
If the shoe fits – take it off
Dead man, get a life
Candle-lit blurry eyes
This fickle Popsicle
Drippin’ icicle
Background:
Sisqó’s “Thong Song”
Long gone; long time no see
The cool breeze flees
These trees shakes keys
Chain-linked to the cages
We were on that hiss
Sparkle-flick; snowman piss
This shit be the bees knees
Like licking honey
Off our finger tips

Are we there?

Majolica ware; wine lees glaze
Goddamn mattress
Feels like I haven’t slept for days
Hymns hummed over distant called
Microfilm, disco balls
Some Saturn
Microfiber, mandolin
Niagara Falls
Room spinnin’
Red colors
No matador winnin’
Doormat read, “Ouch,”
Dormant on the couch
Sprouting spring
Winterized howl
Spouting obscene things
To Jack Frost
In the backyard
Noose tied
Holiday oak
Green moss
Montana
Lymph nodes swellin’
Not tellin’
Frost-bitten
I’ve never written
Any words compelling
Track Name: Luke Nukem
A trophy waits for the man with atrophy of the heart
I’ve never had a hometown place worth going back to

Make no mistake; we reap the wars we make
Lawn, shadow-puppet guises are on us
In, over, and out – there’s a waterfall
Where a shopping mall used to bloom

No one can stop a Dr. Proton
When it’s too late
In June,
Mitochondria might survive
The doom, like movies in our minds
Though it happened all too soon

It’s beautiful

Littering our living rooms
Everclear and gasoline
To encase our tombs
Ash and solar paneling

Purple strobes, minimal
Akin to Catholic robes
Engine drones reverberate
Through wire-sun stone

When cold settles in
And snow begins to fall
You’ll think of living
In days before
You left this world

And, when you write
What you’ve seen, my brother
Be sure to include
A short introduction