fEAR

by retconned

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1.
01:21
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3.
02:07
4.
04:19
5.
03:45
6.
03:59
7.
02:22
8.
03:40

credits

released February 14, 2017

Retconned: electronics, vocals, production. Joshua Fauver: electric bass and guitar. James Joyce: acoustic drums. Recorded 2015-2016. Additional recording at the Living Room, Atlanta GA, with Edward Rawls and Justin McKnight. Additional production and mastering by Travis Thatcher.

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about

retconned Atlanta, Georgia

Synthpunk in the vein of Suicide, Primitive Calculators, The Screamers. Retconned’s early material combined the primitive, minimal wave melodies of Martin Rev or Dark Day with digital noise, aliasing effects, and confounding, neuraesthenic vocal performances. Later material became increasingly instrumental, somber, and saturated, and began to take on aspects of kosmische and drone. ... more

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Track Name: Two Way Glass
Ear to door, clutch the phone. Piss in jars; Roommates gone. As we’re trained, splintered off, shards and glue are the ends of things; Just singed wings, just singed hair. Itching skin fit for a queen, blood stained books. Evidence can’t convince. Convince no evidence. Can they see us or can they see through us? A drink, a smoke, a weighted blanket; two way glass or shattered glass; a smoke, a drink: nothing. A muscled jail, a weighted blanket, nothing. Burning in my head.
Track Name: Solomon
It’s over, over nothing. Nothing’s over, over everything. Owners under ice we feel, it’s water, steam, red paint. It is blood when baked. Take a girl or take a boy. Cut it in half. Box the pieces, bake the pieces, birth the reasons, split the wages for the cycle spasming in front of your faces. Twist the bodies, cut them. Burn it in half. Cut half in half.
Track Name: Chain
It’s lock and seize; drink in your face. Electrified cages, dumpsters of means. Oh, lets place blame. Lines fork. Pests trapped in glasses like fleeting bad dreams. These cold chains: afraid enraged we fight, fly, freeze or fuck. Turn toward ourselves, abandon epithets, decapitate to take both ways out. Oh shattered self, coiled enraged; Well, they locked us in, a flipped witness. They did us in, well make it sane, we can fake the shit that remains.
Track Name: Face Police
Mummified past the knees. Serve the mother’s needs. Sing a song, it’s a plea: down the Nile, across the stream: costume jewelry. All at maximum, what we’re acting on: itches we aren’t scratching and welcome to broken home. Worship father’s feet: ossify, sweat, and dream. Breath fails. Run, turn tail. Cut offense off, breathe, choke, cut through fences. Now we’ll play their roles, makeup their makeups, their plans soiled. Subjects shift for them.
Track Name: Hyacinth
Goodnight, hit the mattress. Repeat today’s broken oath. A thousand flowers, or a single hyacinth, intrusive thoughts or new hopes. Prophetess lies, a hole in your mind. Pulling out all your hair. Mother, may I revive scenes of nosebleeds? A telepathic affair between afraid and scared. Flip a coin. Do or don’t want it: imperfect panic attack. That’s how we foment connections, or is it all things but that? Predate the predatory pack. A bucket or a body, holes throughout it. Half remember these early offenses, even if we both loose our wits. Repeat what the chorus said.
Track Name: Red Milk
Ripe fruits of stale reasons connected and coiled, disconnected and cold. Fear revived, no parade in sight. And willful without reason. Revenge of the frigid insights. We’ve only our name,
like badges built of brain. Stiff bodies, no decay. In their cribs, in your stained silk sheets. The names have names, and they are many. Like the drooling multitudes, I rise from their remains.