Nothing Painted Blue - Taste the Flavor (2006) [Shrimper, SHR147, CD]
Tracklist:
1. One Who Fell
2. (Jessica's Got A) Ropeburn
3. Cornstarch
4. A Longer Leash
5. Back in Town
6. Self-Contained
7. Take Your Own Advice
8. Striver
9. Emphasis
10. Human Shield
11. Dry Spell
12. Swan Song
13. [untitled]
From the booklet:
Recorded and mixed at Wavelab Studios, Tucson, Arizona. Mastered at Kingsize Studios, Los Angeles, by David Trumfio and Michael Krassner. All songs © 2005, Stopgap Measures (BMI). Lyrics and so forth at www. nothingpainteblue .com
Kyle Brodie: Drums, percussion, vocals. Franklin Bruno: Vocals, guitars, keyboards. Peter Hughes: bass, piano on "Self-Contained", vocals. Craig Schumacher: engineering and mixing, harmonica, echo tube, vocals. Nick Luca: Add'l engineering.
From a Wayback machine grab of nothingpainteblue dot com (9 Nov 2009) (the next grab, in 2011, is a 404):
Remember when the main point of being involved in “independent music” was not to land a track on the CDs sitting by the register, to be impulse-purchased along with a caramel latte? Remember when the general idea—even if you were supposedly playing “pop” rather than “hardcore”—seemed to involve getting your material over with some modicum of vitality and vivacity? Remember when, on many of your favorite records, there was audible evidence that the rhythm section had met on at least two previous occasions? Remember when none of us knew any cellists?
Actually, neither do we: Taste The Flavor was recorded in 2001 (and mixed a year later), and everything that’s happened since has tended to obscure the past until it's a fresco in a room full of smudgepots. But it seems as though there must have been a time like the one described above—if not, this album is far more original than any of us imagined. In any case, to paraphrase Gerard Langley: “These songs are on a record; they're something that we did.”
It’s fitting, given the conflicted attitude toward self-promotion evident throughout our career, that Nothing Painted Blue would finally establish an on-line presence when the band itself is becalmed, or at least geographically dispersed. (That is: we all still like each other, and are unwilling to actually promise you that we won’t record or play again.) At the moment, all you will find here are lyrics to the current album and a rough discography (including solo work and related projects); in the future, we hope to post older lyrics, a gallery of flyers and photos, and perhaps some mp3s of unreleased and difficult-to-locate recordings. So check back sometime.
Despite the “.com,” don’t expect to be able to buy anything through this site; Franklin can’t be trusted with any volume of direct mail orders. (However, you’re more than welcome to contact him here.) We direct you instead to more reliable online retailers such as Scat and Midheaven.
Lyrics for this album, via the same Wayback grab:
ONE WHO FELL
I had an atom smasher/I was using it to mow my lawn
I was a party crasher/I used to stay ’til the rest of the guests were gone
I was an empire builder/with properties that hid the sky
I had a charcoal filter/but now there’s nothing left for me to purifybecause you/took my world
and placed it somewhere I was not allowed
yeah you/stole my whole world
now I don’t know how to knock you off your cloud(ch)
but the space you fill/is blank as hell
and if you go/it’s just as well
but won’t you throw a rope to one who fell?
one who fellI had a stately manor/and a 9.7% yield
I was an urban planner/from Toluca Lake out to Bakersfield
I was a power broker/in my private Parthenon
I had an all-day sucker/but you took three licks and it was gonesince you/stole the world
and put it where the air’s too thin to breathe
yeah you/stole my whole world
and left me down here where the serpents seethe(ch)
(JESSICA’S GOT A) ROPEBURN
Jessica says that she can’t climb
the steps while she’s so weak and I’m
not going to help her anytime to soonJessica’s got her mother’s laugh
I heard it when I asked her if
her daughter might come by some afternoonshe always looks like she’s gonna play tennis with a corpse and lose
ever since that torturer put on the screws(ch)
Jessica’s got a ropeburn
Jessica’s sliding down
Jessica’s got a bonespur
she’s spiral bound
she’s crashing down down down downJessica says that she can’t scale
the stairs while she’s so thin and frail
can’t she see that I’ve got ailments tooJessica forms attachments but
she likes her foreign films uncut
Tennessee Williams might know what to doshe needs a guywire, not another guy who’s gonna string her along
ever since that torturer came on too strong(ch, minus last line)
she’s just like
tin-roof ice-cream melting
on a catgut racket
spent all summer wearing
Eisenhower jackets(ch)
CORNSTARCH
you’re like a critic/who wasn’t sent a presskit
you can’t conceive of anything to write
you’re like a trained dog/who wasn’t fed a biscuit
you won’t perform for anyone tonightyou say you’re lonely/but you won’t let me visit
you say you’re wounded/but you won’t let me kiss it
but I can see/what you want from me
by the way your eyebrows arch
but I’d rather have it watered down
than thickened up with cornstarchyou’re like psychic/who says the future’s cloudy
you can’t predict how all of this will end
you do a highkick/you hug me and say howdy
I’m not convinced that you’re fit to be my friendyou say you’re weary/and all your sleep is fretful
you say you’re sorry/but you don’t look regretful
and I can tell/there’s a parallel
between soldiers on the march
as they overrun some border town
and the way you feed me…who gets the backlash without all the hype
going straight from green to overripe?
you can fix me forever in your movable type
I would shout for assistance but you’re flooding my windpipe with
cornstarchyou’re on your knees/in your powder-blue pajamas
I’m making scenes/you’re constructing dioramas
as you rehydrate/all your tears of hate
from their former state/as a concentrate
so the flavor’s not so harsh
do you like your gravy rich and brown
and thickened up with cornstarch"
A LONGER LEASH
not to coin a phrase/but play it as it lays
make them think you’re safe in your restraints
not to tip my hand/but all these false demands
misdirect from what I really want
and how much I really wantI see a jar of pills and a bottle of bleach
I want all of one or a little of each
they give me a longer leash but I keep strainingI know they check the beds/when we’re fucked on meds
that’s why I keep your picture in my pants
but they don’t have a clue/what I intend to do
when we sneak out from the Easter dance
so I’ll tell you in advanceI want to lead you once more into the breach
pierce you like the flesh of a peach
they give me a longer leash but I keep strainingwhy be brave
when fear is all you have?
why be saved?
there’s nothing to forgive
why behave
as if the life you live
requires explaining?I see a jar of pills and a bottle of bleach
a golden ocean just out of reach
they give me a longer leash but I keep straining
BACK IN TOWN
I heard that she was back in town/but I haven’t seen her yet
I wonder how her hair is now/I wonder if her heart is set
against me still
as it was
when she took that long drive East
I wish she would have warned me
you’d think she could have called at leastthey’ve torn a couple churches down/they’ve put a couple condos in
but otherwise this town is how/I guess it’s almost always been
and there’s a pull
to this place
she was too weak to resist
there’s something in the air here
I know it isn’t me she’s missedI wonder why she came/I wonder if she cares
I wonder who’s to blame/for answering my prayersI lift my eyes
to a light
in her second-story rooms
I know somebody hurt her
at least that’s what my heart assumes
has brought her back to town
SELF-CONTAINED
I can take/can take rejection
I can make/the moments pass
but upon/upon reflection
who’s that figure in the glass?his heart is just a heart is just a muscle
and his head is just a head is just a brain
his mouth is just a just a tunnel
and his eyes are just some things his face containsif I had/I had not seen him
perforated/into thirds
I would drive/a wedge between him
and insert his empty wordsmy heart is just a heart is just a muscle (heart is just)
and my head is just a head is just a brain (head is just)
my mouth is just a mouth is just a tunnel (mouth is just)
and my eyes are just some things my face containsmy heart is just a heart is just a muscle (heart is just)
and my head is just a head is just a brain (head is just)
my mouth is just a tunnel to my asshole (mouth is just)
and my prick is just a freak I can’t contain
TAKE YOUR OWN ADVICE
you’ve got the self-styled aesthete
and the armchair athlete
and the prosecutor telling gruesome tales
but you can nurse that old gripe
until the sour grapes turn ripe
but the cross you’re on is short a couple nailsand you told your friends/it wouldn’t be paradise
and you scold your friends/for wanting a bigger slice
you’d better take your own, take your own adviceyou’ve got the air duct creaking
and the feedback shrieking
’til it makes you want to holler, “oh shit, coach!”
but when the units won’t shift
until you use a forklift
you might as well rethink your whole approachand I know that once/they were one you like white on rice
you can blow that once/but it’s not gonna happen twice
you’d better take your own, take your own adviceHollywood to Hartford
flooding out to Fargo
America by dartboard
as bitter high-school loners
turn into attorneys, professors and home-ownersbut you tell yourself/it’s better to be precise
you could sell yourself/if you lower the asking price
you’d better take your own, take your own advice
STRIVER
with a smile like a crease in the shirt of his face
and a coat-hanger drape to his jacket
watch him tense every tendon as you sets the pace
in the race for the next income bracketnow there’s room at the top but there’s more in the ranks
and he’s matching your stride but he’s straining
and he’s slave to the bite of the spur in his flanks
but you’re not gonna hear him complainingit’s second nature to the native son
the office joke he can barely decipher
at the expense of his naked ambitiona bit of a striver/he tries so hard
greedy conniver you can’t disregard
every surface a scorecard
every edge is a measuring rod
when you hold it up against himhe’d be up in the office while you’re still in bed
but you don’t want to give him the pleasure
as he’s sizing you up for the grave in his head
with a flick of his mental tape-measuresliding levers through the sand and grit
marbles drop, he’s the only survivor
the last to leave and the first to admit ita bit of a striver, he tries so hard
sputtering diver in his final yard
every surface a scoreboard
every edge is a measuring rod
pull a plank from the floorboard
every nail brings him closer to God
as you hold it up against, hold it up against him
EMPHASIS
I know you live in the world
I know you do what you can
but the way you turn tight corners
seems to shorten my lifespanit’s not the weather I love
it’s just the shape of the sky
but you shrink it to a keyhole
everytime you wander by
and I can barely miss
the package in your hands which is
my heartyou pack the powder so tight
you wrap it up in some foil
now it’s not so much the rebound
as it is the sharp recoil
I’ve come to fear from this
undetonated bomb which is
my heart (which is my heart)
which is breaking againI don’t want to tell you what to do
I just wish you’d do it once without me asking you
I don’t want to tell you how to act
I just wish the story that you told me hadn’t lacked
the proper emphasis
on what I’ve got in mind which is
my heart (which is my heart)
which is breaking again
HUMAN SHIELD
if I had an ounce of charm
I would take you by the arm
and you would not resist the pull
I know it sounds improbable
but it happens every day to people
just like you and meif I had a lick of sense
I would wear down your defense
and kiss you while your eyes are shut
I know it sounds unlikely but
it’s still the only way two people
share one frequencytell me now, before you ask your agents in the field
why you hold your body like a weapon you can wield
as a human shieldI see you sitting on the couch
I see you fiddle with your blouse
I watch you take a sip of tea
I can’t believe it’s up to methe planets kiss/the seasons shift
the major fall/the minor lift
the winter coats/the summer skirts
the autumn leaves/the springtime flirts
if I could overcome my fear
then this could be a banner year
and it happens every day to people
and what else can you say to people
just like you and me?
DRY SPELL
winter is a solipsist
it can’t believe that spring exists
that’s a song I tried to start
but never could complete
until nowI’ve feel the downpour, the flash flood, the end of a dry spell
up to my hips in the warm mud where no flowers grew
but now they doBas Jan Ader went to sea
searching for the mystery
the page on which I wrote that part
was crumpled in defeat (until now)I feel the ice break, the dam burst, the end of a dry spell
and as the fields slake an old thirst and growth starts anew
I tip my head back and drink well, the pen and the inkwell
are full of you
I feel the pull of you
the fount of you
it’s on account of you
SWANSONG
(written 1996; recorded Jan. 2001)
here comes the coda/here comes the ceasefire
here comes the baking soda/thrown on the grease fire
here comes the swansong/sung at the bombsite
here comes the Elton John song/they play on prom night
this is the purge that all those emergency broadcasts were in case of
and this is the fate it’s a little too late for laughter in the face of(ch)
as equestrian statues rear up
and the storms that were gathering clear up
and inactive volcanoes flare up
you’d better burn everything that you can’t tear up
on the last day, on the last daywe’re such a throwback/I think we’re played out
with lots of video black/after the fade-out
I’ve got the proof here/I want the kill fee
but you’ve got nothing to fear/unless your wealthy or filthy or otherwise guiltya vagabonds stands with a sign in his hands out on Third and Alvarado
he knows how it ends, but you and your friends wander by with false bravado(ch)
holed up with my wife and kids
in my cabin at the ridge
watching g-men cross the bridge
bulges in their jacketssend my son out for supplies
watch the bullet as it flies
they fill forms out as he dies
as if they’re parking ticketsnow I stand in judgment of
every form of earthly love
I hope you like the rain of blood
’cos it’s coming down in buckets(ch)
as the orbit of Mercury slows down
and Manhattan turns into a ghost town
and a ship full of angels sails down
you try to grab everything that is not nailed down
on the last day, on the last day
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