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by mewithoutYou

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    [Untitled] on CD format. Includes lyric booklet.

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  • [Untitled] LP - YELLOW Vinyl
    Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    [Untitled] Album on yellow vinyl with corresponding yellow LP labels and lyric booklet. Packaged in a high quality tip-on jacket with spot-gloss features. Yellow vinyl limited to 1500 copies. A very small amount available on Bandcamp, the rest will be available via Run For Cover Records.

    Includes unlimited streaming of [Untitled] via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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Nine-twenty-seven a.m., seven/twenty nine, anyone listening want a brain washed like mine? JACKAL (in the sheep flock): shadow on the vine! HONEY (from the cleft rock): better luck next time. Lock jawed glass rat, Psalter seventeen w/ functional addiction to altars of the May Queen half clear ghost [name chemical] appears in the hollow of a cow’s horn buried in a grainfield (as that wondrous hour draws near) one day they’ll find us, feathers on a tiger’s body quiet as a clear blue glacier lake Ploughshares gone swords, we were the scourge of the earth offerings unpoured, unliturgical drink it’d be a pearl of a time now for a virgin birth & it happens more often than you might think. 9:28 a.m., low in the phosphorous lights of lonesome days & parthenogenetic nights you became the glowing letters of a red sign: “BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME” better luck next time.
Today, a thousand years of strained affection and prayer “out beyond ideas of right & wrong is a field” Will I meet you there? The summer garden blooms with autumn soon replaced another harvest moon--- so many ways to lose so many faiths. ‘Holy to the LORD’ on the bells of horses, safely on the shore, we sank like stones to the bottom of a made up ocean Standing on the lake shore, Julia, silent as a seashell Julia magnet of the elk park Julia laid down on the Temple floor “Send a couple rats,” said Julia I’d have done the same thing to you Coffee and a milk, now Julia who do you think needs who more? In case your plan falls through to mispronounce my name, [static between me and that Salafi, Yusef] to curse You-Don’t-Know-Who and bow before the same [so was the scene at al-Aqsa,] I’ll meet you there. [I have to admit, I loved the cut of his pant legs!] another lovely afternoon for Sūrat al-Kāfirūn ‘Holy to the LORD’ on the bells of horses Safely on the shore, we sank like stones to the bottom of a made up ocean
RAINBOW CASTLE: Brown bird, common bird-- How’s your little twig nest been? BROWNBIRD: I heard you searched the hollow earth, have you finally found your long lost friend? Endless words of “a dream deferred” wouldn’t have you look my way so I made the rounds in Germantown, they could barely taste my pancreas that day. It’s the 28th Will, the lucky 8th, Bill! you win that grammy, Will? Good for the landfill! ...and did you beat Phil? ...and did you network well? [So grew another head for Hydra] you wanna circle Sinai another 40 years? have I made myself? and myself clear? still seduced by the child celebrity appeal? have I made myself? and myself clear? Brown eyes, brown eyes, what do you see? BROWN EYES: Brown eyes of an adult looking back at me. Brown eyes, brown eyes, what do you see? BROWN EYES: Hazel eyes & a caterpillar book on my knee. And now you’re gonna explain to me about resilience and fragility? circling Sinai another 40 years? have I made myself? and myself clear? let’s watch the desert sky--do silent shapes appear? have I made myself in any way myself? you hold your children close whenever we come near? speak in children’s prose for those with ears to hear? You in the diving bell, atop the silver skyline play the victim well-- who’s the devil this time?
[Brighter days, whiter painted graves under Idaho sky set to roadside attraction prayer] SANSEVIERIA: Traveling where the trains will? BURNING BOOKS: To Gainesville. [one turning, looks in semicircles] Lies! SANSEVIERIA: Have a little decency and time to kill? BLUEBIRD [on a branch]: Unpromised land! [DORMOUSE sighs] the avalanche of sadness! of untied strange commands as symbols on their hands, now stored on foreheads! How concerned with unsubstantial terms and turns of circumstance…[etc.] LITTLE LAMB: Before the day is done my prince is gonna come JOSEPHINE FOSTER: Ye winged seraphs fly, bear the news with loud and joyful cry SANSEVIERIA: Boys with nothing left to lose? NIKOLAI VOLKOFF [in Croatian muffin hat]: Bridal shoes a birthright-- child of the Ephraimites! not quite prepared to speak right-- SANSEVIERIA: or sleep well with how well we sleep at night? BLUEBIRD [outside door]: Mating rights secured. LAMBS: [w/ best attempts to keep themselves warm] A toast to all we’re meant for! [withhold details of West Virginia highwayside] LITTLE LAMB: Before the day is done my prince is gonna come BURNING BOOKS: Fire and a flood, there’s power in the blood of every little lamb wonderworking power
Winter solstice, the earth open wide with a heart crushed like footsteps in snow (((fictitious persons disclaimers implied to all listening from rooftops below))) it had rained and the air was like perfume outside as the sky changed we began when the ground was still dry planting vineyards where vineyards don’t grow shaping cypress with pitch on both sides for the nights when our trumpets won’t blow that regret still there circling like vultures inside as your face changed? They don’t stay inside. (there but for Thy grace go I...) through the eyes of machines, immaculate scenes that had already passed me by all the stars on the ground, Noah’s ark in the clouds set sail in the flood of my mind, the other animals drowned in blasphemous towns and asked as they passed me by: “was to do as I please a European disease?” Winter solstice, the earth had closed down, so with breastplates of righteousness low searched for streams in the caves underground where the Baptists and bootleggers go and you smile but your vampire complexion still shows and your past shows. it’s really all that shows. (so often unrecognizably so) through the eyes of machines viewed immaculate scenes that had already passed me by all the stars on the ground, Noah’s ark in the clouds but the thought in the back of my mind: “does my misery feed a metaphysical need that’s long since passed me by, neither reasoning why nor offering reply?” dear my newlywed wife, you’re not the love of my life, it had already passed me by--- finally grasping the line casting pearls before swine?
FERDINAND [VIII]: You the coverclouds in a midnight sky I, a little snowflake waxwing high erring on the delicate side: who can mark the hour our soul sick friendships die? MARIA [the pious]: ever felt like Noah on an overcast day? David, take down your harp and play. FERDINAND: You hatched your little plan when the first fell through? the wicked in you ran, though none pursued! MARIA: You’re toeing a precarious line. [momentary taste of almost unmediated mind] silk shirt for a sackcloth king--- David, take down your harp and sing! FERDINAND: Clockwork drama in a Josten’s ring ever on the verge of catastrophe… *************************** King of Spain, Queen of Portugal *************************** MARIA [the mad]: I ran to the sea but the sea wouldn’t hide me, the oceans agree there was no one to hide! will my story give way to the weight of its gravity? ~self-appointed-cop-spokesman-of-the-end-times~ FERDINAND [to the smell of blood]: knockneed step and a bent-back spine, no sense of direction besides... MARIA [unfazed]: patterns in the clouds over lake Cascade! message in the sounds of the Air Force planes! [offers claims on an extravagant scale in elaborate (if laminated poster board) display about chemtrails] Tinky’s harp on the wall next to Janis Joplin! FERDINAND [intoxicated with purple]: Man, I coulda sworn that I saw the cosmos in the livestock straw... MARIA [neither pious nor deranged]: Early cartography sea creature dragon and all? **************** King of Spain, our songs proclaim that you’re Queen of Portugal King of Spain, our prayers in vain till you’re Queen of Portugal Owls now sail toward seas of Africa ---flee, thou matadors! courts of dandelions, wars of Oranges have conquered us! ****************
Watchmen w/ their eyes closed, ransom and a scripture by the picture of your face, messages the rhymes chose, blueprint for contrition in a cigarette case Everybody knows, son. everybody knows what you’ve done. Everybody knows, son everybody knows exactly what you’ve done. Charles was alive then, towering like a mountain at the silver trumpet blast William still alive till when our altars are all emptied of his offerings to the last Everybody knows, son. everybody knows just what you’ve done. Everybody knows, son and so again it goes you can’t end what you’ve begun Surely as the sun early on the east side comes before my sleepless eyes your features metamorphosize Surely as the sun early on the east side comes If only you had known how soon you’d be on your own, how suddenly they’d cast the stone When the mouths of praise and blame start to sound the same, and you’ve asked they please not come back around & yet they happen by, you can offer my reply: “there’s tortoises all the way down.” since the night you came dressed up in your righteous name all you claim to see doesn’t mean a thing to me. Surely as the sun early on the east side comes, I know I’m not the only one whose blindfold-and-a-scale-ship refused to sail and yet failed since each search for solid ground You sing to me at night as the moving finger writes on tortoises all the way down you think that glass of wine could cancel half a line? but it won’t wash our words out this time & I’m not the only one who’s got nowhere to run cause everybody knows, son. everybody knows just what you’ve done. Everybody knows, son everybody knows what you’ve done. while all hiding inside our painting-of-a-house-hung-up-inside- that same-painted-house-which-ever-implies-another-painted-house-inside lives, serpent-in-the-sky-lives! servants-of-the-least-high! most-tortoiseless lives! would you meet me sometime soon, son, down by the riverside? there’s room enough in my paradise, my empty little mind
2,459 Miles 02:26
Living two-thousand-four-hundred fifty-nine miles from home when again that line from Eleanor Rigby cuts me to the bone I’ve read “the Lord God said it is not good for man to be alone” but you can leave me anytime. Some damage done, we left for London with the sun low in the sky to let St. Edward fix us breakfast if not otherwise obliged to drown in doubts the future needs us, if by chance it should arrive you can leave me anytime. Eight sleepless days the scales of Libra weighed the stars to my design I looked around inside and all I saw were unsympathetic eyes I’ll tear my shirts and shatter windows, do my best to act surprised if you leave me anytime, you can leave me anytime.
WENDY: Signs of contemptible times! BETSY: You still dance with an arm to your side? WENDY: Our hands to be empty & still asleep on the windowsill if it be your will-- BETSY: Is last winter's prize winning Norwegian Forest outside!? Could I try on your lilac dress? Wendy? {{{light of my life!}}}} (and you know the rest) so I take from your stare, you’ve got a lesson in there? WENDY: Well they say the Institute made a perfected replica blade for the Ancient of Days BETSY: While you dial the priest I’ll tell Princess to try the police-- WENDY: We could start the 3rd World War! BETSY: But then what good would scripture be for? [An absence of calm in the air as the temperature fell on the new concierge at the Carriage Hotel] WENDY: Word has it the younger McKim girl’s not well... BETSY: remember that story with the mermaid and the actor? WENDY: Betsy, the bones of the prophets we saw! the mob throwing stones at the Bethlehem wall! BETSY: [in grandiose tones, raising right paw in Jacques Louis David Tennis Court Oath gesture] All joking aside, five fingers wide, should the bed of the bride be despair tell your parents it’s true, though I’d never physically hurt you, I do know some Arabic prayers but I left what was left of my self-respect like a Swiss army knife on the ground and a pocket of coins at the IDF checkpoint by what some call ‘the Temple Mount.’
If God wills this time tomorrow, bound for Boise via plane (willful mispronunciation of my destination’s name) I’d like to write a sequel to “the State That I am in” [sic] If God wills this time tomorrow in the early morning rain I’ll unpack the boots I borrowed and turn back the way I came I’d like to write a sequel to “the State I am in” and I’d like to call the song New Wine, New Skins “God’s will” or “come what fortune gives”--- or is this truly how you’d choose to live: managing the narrative? Come, unfastening android limbs in the moonlight through translucent skin now we’ve both been there and back again, to the state that I’m no longer in with carbon fiber lips whereby came thought reflex personified now a scorpion in the sky, harmless as a butterfly SCORPION [a Smiths fan]: You can pin and mount me likewise! If you fail first, some warm, bright day I’ll unperform at your unmarked grave, and you can tell me what those eyes have seen but for now the Creek-don’t-rise routine with churning engine, fix my head up north in the Gold Fork riverbed from the misuse of intelligence and all I wish I’d said pours out new wine, new skins “God’s will” or “come what fortune gives” or is this truly how you’d choose to live?
Ring them bells, Peter ring them bells wonder where’s my mother been? floatin’ above that world of sin? wearing that cardboard sign again? Ring them bells, Peter ring them bells Wonder who’ll my children be? strangers like their mom and me? cork spots on the apple tree? PETER: (not ringing bells) Some go chasing motorcars, some rush inward as they are-- --cat tracks on the reservoir. Orange in the grass, roll away! Mother McKenzie in the nightshade! Joshua resurrected Hemingway! Penny, leaded glass---get away! Heron of the past with a baked clay! Truth swans! kaleidoscopic highway! Michael, won’t you row that boat ashore? Your little brother can’t paddle anymore! Another dark star bottled in a bell jar they say the river runs deep but it’s not wide-- you wanna guess who’s sleeping on the other side? [Peter, ring them bells] Harry’s still alive, just fine! no cancer, now just a little throat line! [wonder where’ve my friendships gone?] Craft mines! Our needle of the white pine! [Peter, ring them bells] St. James sabbath of the 8th day still part Rabbit like his uncle A.? [Lies that I was depending on?] Andavanay! Andavanay! [Sister, trim them sails] Sammy with his daddy in the foxhole, Voice of a jaguar & a heart of gold [Boastin’ talk gonna sink my soul] Michael, row that boat ashore! [Brother, lend a helping hand] and if either of our wives need a little time [But you, poor children, how you gonna land?] You and I’ll take the kids to the county line I bet you Sarah knows the place I don’t have in mind. [what voices you been hearin’ as waters rise and darkness comin’ in?] Andavanay!!! Have you heard from heaven today? tell me then, what’d Gabriel say? am I still on that narrow way?
Have I established a pattern, perhaps a bi-annual mental collapse? and is every day a thousand years for anyone with ears to hear? Someday I’ll find me Can you really make all things new? I have reason to believe you do, nothing new, break on through (to the other side) [part two]. Someday I’ll find me if the briar or wheat grow, cloven tongues of fire aglow or of snow, bond or free in whatever you may be someday I’ll find me


Since their formation in 2001, mewithoutYou have become a standard-bearer for their genre (whatever genre that may be). Across six full-length albums and a handful of EPs, the Philadelphia band—alternately labeled experimental punk, post-hardcore, indie rock, etc.—have long put a premium on progression, never anchoring themselves to a single sound and instead gracefully wandering across stylistic lines. It’s that same spirit that informed the band’s upcoming seventh album [Untitled], their second for Run For Cover Records, as well as its accompanying EP [untitled].

“It’s a perennial question within the band of how far to push out into the unknown,” says vocalist Aaron Weiss. “Of course it's nice to do something new, but to what extent, and to what end?” For [Untitled] novelty came naturally. Weiss had become a husband and father and relocated to Idaho, where a makeshift home studio rig and MIDI keyboard facilitated lo-fi, synthetic experimentation. Meanwhile in Philadelphia, guitarists Mike Weiss (Aaron’s brother) and Brandon Beaver stockpiled ideas ahead of the recording session with producer Will Yip. And the addition of Dominic Angelella—who took up bass duties while Greg Jehanian was on sabbatical (he’s since returned to the band)—gave drummer Rickie Mazzotta the chance to spread out and explore a new sonic palette. The result is two works of tragicomic beauty, the likes of which only mewithoutYou could create.

What begat this wealth of material was not just the band’s distance, which allowed its members to write freely, but personal and social matters that forced Weiss to explore himself in a more granular way. “I thought I was going to write a record about the 'rising political tide,' but that didn’t happen,” he says. Relational turmoil, including certain tensions within the band, were a more immediate catalyst for creativity, as outside forces pushed Weiss to look inward and focus on the things he could change about himself. “Whenever I pointed a finger 'out there,' I tried to pull it back and ask, ‘What does this say about me that I'm having this reaction?’” There was no shortage of material in this self-examination, as Weiss hints at a prolonged, intensely bizarre psychological journey that accompanied the songwriting. When pressed for more detail, he's uncharacteristically guarded. "I'm usually pretty transparent about what inspired a given project, but that's not gonna work this time."

The lyrics on [Untitled] are still deeply poetic, and the themes are familiar—e.g., mysticism, metamorphosis, mental illness—but, moreso than recent mewithoutYou albums, are built on Weiss’ lived experiences. He describes his attempts to "go into greater depths of whatever I am and face what's there—however petty, incoherent or humiliating—and emerge with some reason for hope, a reason for joy regardless. To have that be the takeaway, to stare down my deepest misery and sickness and then find a positive resolution, that’s at least part of what I'm going for.” It’s noticeable in tracks like “Julia,” “Flee, Thou Matadors!," and "Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore," as mewithoutYou transmute their most primal urges and "non-drug-induced hallucinations" into expansive, all-consuming compositions that feel outright celebratory by the end.

While Weiss may appear to be at the center of the journey on [Untitled] and [untitled], his bandmates trace similar paths forward. Beaver and Mike Weiss craft rich, intricate guitar melodies and psychedelic panoramas that quake deep inside the listener's chest, while songs like “Wendy & Betsy," "Cities of the Plain," and “Winter Solstice” find the band at its most chaotic, meditative, and pop-oriented, respectively. This expansiveness can likewise be felt in the rhythm section, as Angelella and Mazzotta guide the albums through a dizzying array of landscapes, anchoring the explosive moments and giving the ambient sections a propulsive heft.

With [Untitled] and [untitled], mewithoutYou have created a body of work that is heartbreaking, surreal, and downright revelatory, but still mighty fun. Its scope can be detected in the music as well as Weiss’ words, as he solemnly plumbs the depths of his soul without losing a certain lighthearted optimism. “I guess I need to hit rock bottom and experience some kind of quasi-trauma. It tends to sharpen my senses and strip away what's superfluous and leave me with a more bare bones, crystalline understanding of where I’m at,” he explains. "It also helps my otherwise impoverished sense of humor. After all, it's a pretty silly thing we're doing."

Their finest work to date, [Untitled] and [untitled] secure the band's position as a pacesetter in the world of thoughtful, aggressive music.


released October 5, 2018


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mewithoutYou Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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