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Black lung. Black life. The black hole stuck inside my half-black, heavy heart. As if these stupid words might play some part in status quos, in sleeper holds, in middle passage or tobacco roads. Just like four-hundred years of loaded guns might somehow be undone by singing songs like they were bricks when we’re, we’re trading lives for loose cigarettes, and blackened eyes, and blackened lungs, and free TVs, and capsicum clouds. And if there is a god, well, she don’t care at all if we, we sing the songs, we throw the bricks. We’re trying to breathe but we’re choking on words like pig. And I’m just trying, I’m trying to breathe again. It changes nothing but I...I guess I need to pretend. And I’m just trying, I’m trying to breathe again. It changes nothing but sometimes it helps to pretend.
supported by 34 fans who also own “Loose Cigarettes”
This entire album rips. I've had this on repeated play several times since it came out. I wish I had heard it a week earlier when they played in Boston. One of my fav albums in this genre period. slimes
Crunchy garage jams co-mingle with country on the Brooklyn band's surprise LP, a not-so-secret love letter to the Rolling Stones. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 25, 2018