HAPPENINGS

so - we are back from massachusetts. recorded 13 songs with the masterful will killingsworth at his dead air studios. these songs sound insane. i can't wait for everyone to hear this stuff. we're gonna be pressing another LP. should be out by early 2010. we'll keep you posted as it progresses.

in other news, death by audio this thursday with pygmy shrews, passive aggressor, and our brothers, NOMOS. please come.

AND

Insound just named us the band of the week! check out the review:

http://www.insound.com/stuffwelike/swl_ind.php?id=180&from=99933

you can get our first LP from there, too, or from us.

ok - sales pitch and self shoulder patting over

Mark

new flyer for boston (click for bigger view)

timber

Thanks to those who came out to 538 last night to hang and see bands. It was a good time.

Today we leave for Amherst to record a bunch of new shit until Monday...

The info for the Boston show is on your right, and here is a flyer...

incisions

Next Friday we will be playing this show, it will be fun.

The day after that we leave for Amherst, MA for 3 days to record a bunch of garbage with Mr. Will Killingsworth.

When we get back we are playing a show @ Death By Audio with Pygmy Shrews for their tour kickoff, Nomos is also playing. that is on October 29th. Flyer will be posted when it is produced.

LP's are still available but were going through them quickly.

There is a Boston show in the works, I believe it will be somewhere on the Harvard campus so look out for that.

There is no heaven of glory bright, and no hell where sinners roast. Here and now is our day of torment. Here and now is our day of joy. Here and now is our opportunity. Choose ye this day, this hour, for no redeemer liveth. Say unto thine own heart I am mine own redeemer.

THURSDAY

EVIL

While the red-stained mouths of machine guns ring
Across the infinite expanse of day;
While red or green, before their posturing King,
The massed battalions break and melt away;

And while a monstrous frenzy runs a course
That makes of a thousand men a smoking pile-
Poor fools! - dead, in summer, in the grass,
On Nature's breast, who meant these men to smile;

There is a God, who smiles upon us through
The gleam of gold, the incense-laden air,
Who drowses in a cloud of murmured prayer,

And only wakes when weeping mothers bow
Themselves in anguish, wrapped in old black shawls-
And their last small coin into his coffer falls.

-Arthur Rimbaud