Faking The Wisdom

by Goner

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released May 14, 2013


1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 9 written by Scott Phillips. 4, 8, and 10 written by Greg Eyman.

All songs arranged by Goner, produced by Goner and Greg Elkins, recorded at Desolation Row Recording, and copyright 2013 Episode Eleven.

Chris Dalton—drums. Greg Eyman—bass and voice. Scott Phillips—voice, keys, accordion and guitar.

Anne Polesnak—cello on 1. Hunter MacDermut (thetouristnc.bandcamp.com)--voice on 1 and 5, banjo on 3, harmonica on 7. Chas McKeown (grayyoung.bandcamp.com) --guitar on 2. David Morris—tuba on 3. John Niffenegger (newlightchoir.bandcamp.com)--guitar on 3. Emily Orr—voice on 3 and 10. Bill McKelvey—sax on 6 and 9. Joel Rhodes—trumpet on 6 and 9. Sam Madison (reverbnation.com/thebleedingheartsnc) –guitar on 6. Jamie Dawson (reverbnation.com/thekickingrassband) –mandolin on 7. Skip Elsheimer (avgeeks.com)--dialogue archivist/consultant. Mastered by Dave Harris at Studio B (studiobmastering.com). Katherine & Stephen Becker—lyric sheet design.

Special thanks to the Kickstarter contributors; we love you and literally could not have done it without you. Thanks to Greg Elkins; you're an artist and a true friend. Thanks to the guest musicians: Anne, Hunter, Chas, David, John, Emily, Bill, Joel, Sam and Jamie; you helped get the songs where they needed to go and we're grateful. Thanks to Katrina and the SuperFan team (superfanrecords.com), Cody & Quinn, Skip Elsheimer, Dave Harris, Gray Young, David Mueller, Zapruder Point, Brian Donohue, Andy Kerr, Xopher Thurston, Katherine & Stephen, Mike Noel, Chris Drummond, Jim Vincent, Charles Cardello, and Eskimo Kiss. Thanks always to our families, friends, fans and the Triangle music community.

For complete lyrics (and more music), visit goner.bandcamp.com. Also visit us at superfanrecords.com/goner, reverbnation.com/goner, facebook.com/gonertheband, and twitter.com/GonerTheBand.

Contact: goner@superfanrecords.com



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Goner Raleigh, North Carolina

Goner crafts great songs, combining a poetic eye for detail, a cinematic sense of place and character, and an encyclopedic love of rocks both classic and indie.

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Track Name: Randal Lloyd Comes Home
O Mother, the screen and the pixels—I fear that they have eaten into the whites of my eyes. O Mother, the carpals and the tunnels, the crack and the clack of the subway—I fear that they have poisoned my insides. It was such a luxurious skyline I saw the first time. When I met a Cobble Hill gypsy, all scarves and the scent of Europa. But she'd come from Urbana, burning like the dive bar candle between us. And I fell, fathoms deep, into the waters of her blue-blotted eyes. We'd get high in the rooms with the vodka, until the player piano would waltz us out 'cross Central Park. And in the traffic and the towers of granite, we'd spitball our dreams and desires and laugh as we counted the bridge lights, never noticing the tide coming in, greasy and dark. O Mother, my heart's swollen with toxins, infected with love and its lacking. If that futon is still in the basement, all I need is a key to the side door. I promise I won't make a sound as I dream of that diseased city, its canyons all splitting and screaming and swallowing me down.
Track Name: River Town
Calling out all the spectres still around, the old pre-fabricated hallowed ground. Sno cone kids and death girls saunter 'round. The incidental galaxies abound. Back in River Town, kissed in cars as the stars collided. Down in River Town, sharing sighs with the subdivided. Every other lawn a chapter, every street was a show, with so much story left to go. That ivy-ridden school looks so small, the dungeon that I dreaded every fall. I was overwrought. I was slinking down the hall. Am I still like that at all? I can't make that call. Back in River Town, young blood coursing under autumn sweaters. Down in River Town, just one touch and we'll ride forever. Hear it in the two-chord epics, lost in the sweetest glow. The stories spun out years ago. All the pale and raging angels in the crinoline and burgundy are nowhere to be seen. And the crumbling bridge where the smokers used to make out and caterwaul—it's as empty as a dying mall. And the songs are just raw data crackling through the digital air, like a soundtrack to nowhere. And the ghosts you keep embracing and the steps you keep retracing—tell me what is it you're chasing? And after all these stalls in time, the frozen wonder, the uncommitted crimes—how did it all unravel so? Where's this story supposed to go?
Track Name: Sara + Laura's Vampire Song
I'm trying on Laura's black skirt. She says it makes me look fierce. She says tonight'll be massive. She says tonight we're gonna disappear. Parents out in Wisconsin, we're blasting our vampire songs. My blood starts kicking to the chorus. The sun gets swallowed as we scream along. Laura picks hers out quickly, pulls the old nylon routine. Drags her prey to the bathroom and leaves me to suss out the scene. Some boy steps to me in the kitchen, lost grey eyes and a sweet stubbled smile. He says he likes the way the lights attach to me. He holds out a flask for me. Nerves blossom hot in my stomach. I'm feeling on his patchwork jacket. He says a dirty joke, like an unanswered prayer. He says there's rooms upstairs. A wedding reception a couple years ago, a cousin put a mark on my neck. And Daddy just sighed with surrender, but I never could shake what he said. He said blood calls to blood. And it rises in a flood. It's in our blood. Laura sees us in the stairwell, going up hand in hand, and her eyes go wide. I'm laughing like a mad sky-diver. She says, “give us a sec.” She pulls me aside. Flashing fangs in the landing, forehead slick as she pulls me near. My throat goes dry as she whispers, “Hey, Sara, you sure you wanna disappear?”
Track Name: I'll Do The Money Tonight
her eyes were murky with rules / like black indestructible pools
and you and me -- we’re playing the fools
well it’s cool (it’s cool)
inconceivable lines / drawing maps through enemy mines
with facts and readable signs
well, your right – so right / I said, “I’ll do the money tonight.”
that’s right
35 and 8 to 4 /as soon as my key gets in that door
you’ve got your mind on expanding that lore
well, sure – yeah sure
as the broom scrapes across that floor
and the lights – so bright
I said, “I’ll do the money, man. I’ll do the money tonight.”
Track Name: Dickinson Ave (Song Of 27)
Me and Cal rented a van at 27, left behind gratuities and petty crimes. Our band drew insults from Youngstown to Charlotte. It still beat bleach-water and punching time. Cause O some nights we struck like lightning, with the crowd all cherry bombs and misted eyes. And O the sleeping bags and stolen kisses, and the wonder of those unfamiliar skies. Last night I caught the Pageant on Dickinson Avenue, as the undergrads and lifers all swayed in time. We all smiled as the plaster fell around us. And then the conquerors jumped in a rented Econoline. Now Cal's gone north on a bloodshot mission. Sometimes we talk long-distance on his label's dime. Sometimes I sing in the car, where no one's listening. It's a long commute, but I swear I could drive it blind. It's been too many summers since I've seen 27, and I don't think I can ever leave home again. You can't leave home. You can't leave home again.
Track Name: Victory Girl
We slipped off the black jeans and sank in the chlorine, damning as a dream. I'm living in last night. Overheated like a bad rhyme, mist on her neckline, corrupt by design—I'm living in last night. Graveyard girl in grey, all cherry, oak and Bombay. You kissed me in the worst way, living in last night. No song can return it if you just haven't earned it. Learn and relearn it, living in last night. A brief, pale speck on the moon-drenched deck, tangled, wrecked—what did we expect? Do you think you were chosen to stay back, frozen in some receding moment? Don't you dare tonight. There's comfort in the cafes. There's angels in the airwaves. There's bar lights and ballets. Come on out tonight. Where the demons fear to tread, there's a victory girl in red, wits and her wings spread, coming out tonight. I'm ripe for the reprise. I'm high as a high-rise, wide-eyed and unwise, coming out tonight.
Track Name: States Away (Nikki's Song)
My name is Nikki Ann Pale; I live in Austin town. And when I come thirteen, my mother sat me down. She said, “keep your eyes so shining and keep your stomach trim, or else your prince will pass you, and you'll surely be done in.” So it was stiffer smiles and walks for miles. It was ginger tea with a lettuce leaf. Pacing half the night, bleeding electrolytes, and the zero jeans, and the fever dreams. But there's hickory fires on Sixth Street tonight. I got a red dress for dancing and my feet feel quick and light. The Carolinas left me, and I've grown too strong to fight. It's June and I'm no mother's girl tonight. It's summer and I'm states away. Got my G.E.D. one summer, me and Jason living in sin. Set a studio up off the back porch, for the sun to stream on in. For a year our blood kept pumping through the bedtime serenades. One envelope from Texas lit up the mess we'd made. All those gorgeous lines doled out just in time--the enigmatic pose, the supposed rose. Propping up his highs, crumbs falling from his eyes—why do the saddest boys tell the biggest lies? But those trumpets blast on Sixth Street tonight and dusk releases thousands of emancipating lights. We're here to shake down blessings from the constellations bright. It's June and I'm nobody's girl tonight. I charged the gate and I cleared it, Ma. It's summer and I'm free.
Track Name: By Respectfully Declining To Appear
Standing there baffled in the sun / I said, “I’m just looking out for #1”
I finally kicked that King St. right / So, let’s file this under: Fucked Another Night
Lit up, racing down eight lanes / So foggy – so messed up it was insane
The concrete curb came and met my head / I’d rather you just looked away instead
‘Cause you might see / this all belongs to me
The fumbled pass – bloated and sick / let’s try this three more times and see what sticks
Gonna clear this house of the near and dear / by respectfully declining to appear
‘cause you might see / this all belongs to me / and I can see / trust I believe / this all has come from me
Track Name: The Terrified Alumni
Spring like a curse coming 'round--but don't that sun look good going down? We practice disinterested airs, take a pre-game shot and whisper a foxhole prayer. And funnel through the city's grid, alumni making eyes at the approaching skid. Hello, my new insomniatic friend. Make a filthy joke, a well-placed reference. I never mean to impose until we're birthday-drunk and leaning cousin-close. A decade drops beneath our feet. Not cool to drive, but not driving home alone, at least. We stumble through the city's grid, alumni, terrified of the approaching skid. By three, we're doing rails in her parents' den. We got the losers' luck. We're gonna fake the fearless skin. We kiss like carnivores in flat-screen’s glow. The screech of the morning birds—it comes in, low. It starts to grow, starts to grow. The daylight knows. The daylight knows.
Track Name: Too Much To Ask?
Only time, as time will tell
In this sweeping swell
We always knew that you could do better
We always knew that you could do better
In the cold November sun
“Looking out for #1”
We always knew that you could do better
We always knew that you could do better
In the purple pre-dawn light
What’s wrong – what’s right?
We always knew that you could do better
We always knew that you could do better
It’s too much to ask – is it?