1. |
||||
|
So let’s pretend,
For a second,
There’s this dream of revolution,
We’ll entertain and,
tell ourselves,
That you’re there and so am I,
So the question,
For ourselves,
Isn’t “how long shall we battle?”
The question friends is:
“Will you join me on this barricade?”
If you’re there and so am I,
(We’ll) sing the songs that really matter,
The bards they put them down,
On scroll with banjo and guitar,
And the drum will be the heartbeat,
Of our daily revolution,
Standing up for you and I,
You and I.
Standing up for you and I,
You and I.
|
||||
2. |
Death Metal Band
01:21
|
|||
|
They won't let me play in a death metal band
no way oh,
they won't let me into their death metal band.
Well try as I like putting heads on a pike while I call to the beast laying under the sand,
they still say no to my death metal band.
They don't want a banjo in a death metal band.
No way oh,
they don't saw a harp in a death metal band.
I don't play the banjo or fiddle or harp, I just play guitar and even that's pretty bland.
So they don't want me in their death metal band.
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord.
I don't wanna be in their death metal band.
I could never be in their death metal band.
They just sing about dragons, Vikings and warlocks, demons and goblins, running over the land.
I wouldn't fit in in that death metal band.
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord.
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord,
I can't play a power chord.
|
||||
3. |
The Woodcutter, Pt. I
02:14
|
|||
|
There is an absence of sound when you swing an axe the right way.
It doesn't quite swish and it doesn’t really whistle,
It merely moves in an arc before coming to strike the wood.
but the movement between strokes produces no sound.
The absence of sound in the swing itself becomes almost a note of its own.
It's laced with the anticipation of the strike,
cored through with the strength of the swinger’s arms,
the cords of muscle feeling out a chord that cannot be heard by the ears.
The rhythm established by the sound of swings and the absence between them becomes a natural beat.
Irregular and yet continuous, with odd syncopations arising from moments to move a new log into place or to correct a piece that has fell.
But the beat soldiers onward with staggering and swaggering rests nonetheless, axe blade biting deep into wood, the purpose for which it was made.
The poetic specifics of sound (and its absence) were not directly observed by the man cutting logs at this time. And they were logs this particular axe was cutting, and it was a man's hands holding the haft. Some part of him heard the familiar sounds of woodcutting, but not in the front of his mind. For, in fact, the front of his mind was not present in this moment.
The steady labor of putting axe to log is a motion that has been practiced by men, and many women too, for generations. It falls into our muscles like a familiar habit, our joints move into the patterns like a long remembered dance.
Once the beat is established, the mind is no longer required. The soul takes over and it becomes a contest of your strength and willpower against the task at hand. It is challenge and meditation at the same time. It was this meditative state that this particular woodcutter was in now.
|
||||
4. |
Everysong
02:57
|
|||
|
When I was young I couldn’t care about politics,
And I didn’t know what I had,
Because that lack of fear is a luxury,
That’s lost to the damned,
I found myself by flying through a windshield,
Put myself together after the wreck,
And now that I’ve disarmed my delusions,
There’s no goin’ back.
I thought that I could live for myself,
And I thought that I could just be kind,
And to think that that would be all it would take
Meant I was out of my mind.
And this is every folk song, talkin’ bout the changing time,
And this is every punk tune about losing my mind,
And this melody,
is a master key,
that you can use to scratch a car,
And this is the honest truth about who we are.
You can’t just live for yourself,
And it’s not enough to just be kind,
And it’s not enough to just sing the songs,
You gotta do your time.
|
||||
5. |
$$$
03:11
|
|||
|
Look at the flush that’s in his cheeks,
And see the color in his eyes?
That’s a man who just got paid,
That money’s brought him back to life,
But see the way he starts to sag,
He’s leaking like a paper bag,
A paper bag that’s got a hole,
That money put it in his soul
The leaning sag,
With a hole in his paper bag,
It’s drains away so quickly, then it’s gone.
Funding to friends, there’s the days where it might not end,
But with food for the hungry and tips for the touring bands:
Then it’s gone.
We’re told that we should find our worth,
In skills we can take to the bank,
But that’s a lie we get at birth,
That’s not what brings you back to life,
I wanna know what makes you shine,
The things that patch that hole inside,
And make you cry,
The things that make you feel like you’re alive.
The leaning sag,
With a hole in his paper bag,
It’s drains away so quickly, then it’s gone.
Funding to friends, there’s the days where it might not end,
But with food for the hungry and tips for the touring bands:
Then it’s gone.
The leaning sag,
With a hole in his paper bag,
It’s drains away so quickly, then it’s gone.
Funding to friends, there’s the days where it might not end,
But with food for the hungry and tips for the touring bands:
Then it’s gone.
|
||||
6. |
Beware The Delaware
04:36
|
|||
7. |
Red Wine Matador
02:21
|
|||
|
What drove Hemingway to Idaho?
I think it might be pompous but I also think I know,
When the places that feel like home all throw you out,
And you feel like every wall is closing in on you
Then you go
Somewhere that feels familiarly old
And you know
That your stories will always be told
To play the matador, in your local bar,
To walk the trails in nature with killer on your arm,
To look for your peace, which isn’t there,
To try and find the will to write, the reason that they care,
And you know, in your heart,
It might be to late to start,
But you’ve gotta try
What drove Hemingway to Idaho?
I think it might be pompous but I also think I know,
When the places that feel like home all throw you out,
And you feel like every wall is closing in on you
Then you go
Somewhere that feels familiarly old
And you know
That your stories will always be told
|
||||
8. |
Home Honey
02:39
|
|||
|
Snow is on the ground
Even under, the overpass
Storefronts all around
Even though, the fronts are locked and closed
The chill is in the air,
But my gift is here, in this paper bag
The world’s got a certain flair,
After all, it is Christmas Eve
I know, that if I go home
The streets are frozen and the stores are closed
That house is empty, and you’re all alone
The bees can never go home.
I know, that if I go home
The streets are frozen and the stores are closed
That house is empty, and you’re all alone
The bees can never go home.
|
||||
9. |
Steps For Assembly
02:59
|
|||
|
If my guitar is a longbow,
My strap is the bowstring,
Then I am the arrow,
(I’m the arrow,)
And I have been firing for years
just to see if I land.
Far from here
If you were the great tree
Then my mistakes are the dirt,
And I am the apple,
(I’m the apple)
And I have been staring into the lake,
looking down to see my own fall from grace,
and just, how far I'll fall.
I built that damn gazebo
In the sunshine with my powertools
And I read the instructions,
(the instructions)
But that hook only holds fifty pounds,
I’ll have to make some changes to myself,
Or find a different place
To hang
|
||||
10. |
||||
|
Not a poet, not a writer,
Only know the same 6 chords
Got very lucky with your friends and your van
Putting too much work into your band.
Not married, not happy,
Only smiling driving out of state playing basements with your friends,
No money, still drinking,
And we’re all so full of wonder how this ends.
The lines around your eyes,
From when you smile, and when you cry,
Are the same damn thing
And that is not a lie.
Greasy pants and dirty t-shirts,
Constant dirt underneath the nails,
Friendly parkinglots and driveways,
Sweaty hugs and open highways,
Driving sober you might get to see the end,
Lone guitar with sturdy spellbook,
To two piece guitar and bass,
Bring in your brother,
And the one from another mother,
You all can share this dream you’ve gotta chase:
The lines around your eyes,
From when you smile, and when you cry,
Are the same damn thing
And that is not a lie.
The lines around your eyes,
From when you smile, and when you cry,
Are the same damn thing
And that is not a lie.
The lines around your eyes,
From when you smile, and when you cry,
Are the same damn thing
And that is not a lie.
|
||||
11. |
The Woodcutter, Pt. II
03:43
|
|||
|
So plant me deep
My roots will keep
The dirt of this old great tree standing
As apples reach the ground
And you couldn’t take from
Me what it means to be
Free just a sharper axe
So I can cut you down
And I will split the logs of your old
Felled dead tree
And you will never again get to
Make a punching bag of me
My wood cutting axe swings free
And I will split the logs of your old
Felled dead tree
And you will never again get to
Make a punching bag of me
My wood cutting axe swings free
|
||||
12. |
Green 2019
02:46
|
|||
|
On that fateful day in March I met my match and
lost my heart inside a mosh pit's loving fray
And if I could go back today, I know that nothing
I could say would take the bruises that I earned
that day.
I woke up in my closet on a cloudy day in March
I felt like I was hopeless homeless cold and
losing touch and Casey
Walked me to the car, he took my hang-over in
stride, my friends had covered everything my
ticket and my ride, so going
When I wasn't sleeping I was looking into cars,
Knocking on some windows drawing funny looks
And gaining what was
far more fitting of my homeless man disguise,
wearing my apathys patchy beard and clothes
too big to be my size,
On that fateful day in March I met my match and
lost my heart inside a mosh pit's loving fray
And if I could go back today, I know that nothing
I could say would take the bruises that I earned
that day.
I woke up in my van bed on the first day of the year
I knew my youth was over and I started
feeling fear and then I
Listened to your voice, as it told me in my head:
Although this chapter’s over,
You haven’t got to dread because
The big sky up above you, you can see it’s full of stars,
And those stars they become us, and wonder
who we are, and so
although I had to leave you, just know you’re not alone,
Your love with always guide you, your love
will take you home,
On that fateful day in March I met my match and
lost my heart inside a mosh pit's loving fray
And if I could go back today, I know that nothing
I could say would take the bruises that I earned
that day.
On that distant day in March I walked my path
and learned a lot inside a mosh pit's loving fray
And if I could go back today, I know that nothing
I would change about the dreams that I gained
that day.
|
||||
Frankly Lost Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Frankly Lost is a rogue personality fronting a slowly-ever-growing band of misfits making highly energetic and earnest DIY music that feels somewhere between fringey singer-songwriter Art and ska-punk. Following in the tradition of American Folk music, their works are musically and lyrically simple, charged with emotion, and inspired by acts such as Erik Petersen’s Mischief Brew and Frank Turner. ... more
Frankly Lost recommends:
I've made music with these guys before, and will likely do so again soon. They're a great group of dudes, tons of fun live, and I like this album a lot. Hoping to hear more from them soon.
go to album
Before I started recording music in a van, I was recording in a basement. That's where I recorded this excellent folk-punk EP for Jonny Bear. He's a great friend and a rad musician.
go to album
This City Isn't Big Enough
by Apes of the State
Post-addiction introspection, the scorn of the heartbroken, and a rippin' bouncy mandolin. Get angry, be hurt, smile a lot, and definitely shout along with your stereo. It'll get stuck in your head.
go to albumIf you like Frankly Lost, you may also like:
FIGHT LIKE HELL recordings from 2004-2007
by Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains
supported by 9 fans who also own “In Space”
This album is like cracking a cold 40 of steel reserve after fighting in a parking lot at 3 in the morning. If you could bottle youth it would be hard to get a better brew than this.
go to album
Forever Only Idaho
by Harrison Lemke
Big, strummy songs that recall the heart-on-sleeve earnestness and lo-fi glory of early Mountain Goats.
go to album
