Get all 13 American Fado releases available on Bandcamp and save 60%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Someone Else's White Horse, Cherie And The Squeak (09.21.20), Manufactured Dismay (10.23.20), Tales of Power, Galvanometry, Live @ Star Sapphire Lodge 12/22/13, Just Click On The Minotaur, Kilgore Trout Fishing in American Splendor, and 5 more.
Excludes supporter-only releases.
1. |
Holes
02:42
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Do you have holes in your hands?
She would ask repeatedly as stood underneath the floods.
All the better to crucify you with...
Fuck you, I cried.
Yeah, I replied.
All the better to crucify you with...
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2. |
Nice Boys
04:57
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My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
Can't even die and I surely won't scream.
Can't even cry and I know I can't take.
It's not all right and I really can't fake.
'Cuz we all know nice boys don't play.
Been a hell of a week, half bottle by the sea. Sort it out for breakfast, sweat my history.
I wasn't surprised that you're such a cliche. Just didn't think that you'd want it that way. You asked me I didn't ask you.
I coulda left after that first bad screw.
But we all know nice boys don't play.
Writin' letters to myself, watch me dig another hole. Am I behaving badly again, well, you wouldn't, wouldn't wanna know.
I wasn't surprised that you're such a cliche. Just didn't think that you'd want it that way. My goal is to get you out of my dreams. My goal is to get you out of my dreams. My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
We all know nice boys don't play. Sittin' here at my last stand, watch the sparks fly from my soul. Been a hell of a week, half bottle by the sea. Sort it out for breakfast, sweat my history.
Well, of course I'm behavin' badly again. Don't tell me, tell me it doesn't show. An' I'm on my ass again, but I'm gettin' on back up. Watch the sparks fly, fly from my soul.
Yeah, been a hell of a week, half bottle by the sea. Sort it out for breakfast, sweat my history. I wasn't surprised that you're such a cliche.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
My goal is to get you out of my dreams.
We all know nice boys don't play. We all know nice boys don't play. We all know nice boys don't play. Been a hell of a week, 1/2 bottle by the sea. Sort it out for breakfast, sweat my history. Been a hell of a week, 1/2 bottle by the sea.
An' it could be good as gold and I bet much more terrible. I'm on my ass again, but I'm gettin' on back up. Watch the sparks fly, fly from my soul. I wasn't surprised that you're such a cliche. Just didn't think that you'd want it that way. You asked me, I didn't ask you. I coulda left after that first bad screw.
We all know nice boys don't play. We all know nice boys don't play. We all know nice boys don't play. Been a hell of a week, 1/2 bottle by the sea. Sort it out for breakfast, sweat my history. Sittin' here at my last stand , watch the sparks fly from this soul.
And it could be good as gold.
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3. |
House Down 021212
02:56
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4. |
The Hills
03:29
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All I have is money, and holes in my heart.
It's still there, but it's rough and not pretty.
No more deceit; no more the petty.
It's now all just holes in my heart.
Townes on the screen, and no, it's still not pretty. It's all simply holes in my heart.
No shaky hands, but that is a glass of whiskey.
It's all holes in my heart. Signs on the walls and windows and pain, and it's all just holes in my heart. And nothing to pity--threw it all away for some vibrating strings.
Everything comes back, but there are sonnets and sorrow and it's all simply holes in my heart.
Back and forth and gone tomorrow--a heart so full, it's empty. Drawl on in my ears, for, for man's longevity. It's pouring outside. It's raining. It's raining inside. It's always raining.
I've always been such a casual tragedy. That's what my hands have always told me: broken, cracked, sore, and hurting, but they're mine, and I listen to what my hands tell me. If it rhymes, it's a song; if it doesn't, it's poetry. there's little in between but the lie of prosody.
It's a sickly sweet contentment, and an edgy anomaly. And I'm still a voyager, a guest in my own life. Have I become? What is me?
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5. |
Denise the Hunter
02:30
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6. |
Stuck Roadside 082412
03:24
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Looks like sadness is everywhere to be found these days.
Everyone in LA's runnin' around, runnin' around, with a secret frown.
Could be yours is the only number I've memorized right now.
Could be I just wanted to call, want to call and ask how it feels to be gone.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
Hard tellin' if it feels emptier here, emptier here, or there's just more room.
Feels empty to me.
Can't really blame you for wantin' to plant circles, wantin' to plant circles, circles in the forest.
Hope you have fun in the mist.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
Can't really blame you, blame you for wantin' to plant, plant circles in the forest.
Hope you have fun in the mist.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
Guess I'm stuck roadside changin' tires on a Galaxy 500 song.
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7. |
Wee
03:57
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Wee’re still waiiiiting for the next rock star poet
mmmmessiiahhhhcunnt desperado youtth kicck junkyburger
terrrorist deathjoocckkeey flowerrshamaaann
creepppchemicallnewlywedfarrmeerrassholle pproodiigy
freakloverrrr to wrap ourlegsaaround and pushh harder squishing
the itch underneath this preciouusbraincargocancermustardplug
ariamisnomer we never understand ‘cept as
witchcraftroccketsciencesnapshotschoolbookpornograghbabylon
missfitgarbageblasphemmmmypooorrrrrrterwagonneerneutronhappy
traillnothingnesssuccess andnone of us can help it ‘cuz we’re all
buundledup naked again andlaootzuu ate so much at the
pajamapaarty he broke his ass on the way to the mountain so he’ll
always get to the mountain so he’ll never get to the mountain again
and we’re all afraid it’ll work without us so well we act like we
know better right to our own faces with the libraries rioting
inspiiiration again and the princess dyeing her golden hair
schizoidcascade all the way down the miiighty tower so we can
save ourselves better not come too soon nobody wants to be the
last bodhisattva it’s so embarrassing like tooiletpaper on your shooe
slow down we’re already there says the tortiose to the hairspray
and believe me there is no belief and you can take that to the bank
since I always lie or so they call me underneath the night sky
nobody can find out the precise shade and the banshees wailing in
a country I’ve never been to and another prepositional phrase
tumbled down the wall thin skinned brittle shell cracking and
shredding other pooeple’s paintiings in half and llaughing left hand
out sellin’ the right
never been nowhere the jazz ever stopped playing aint never been
nowhere the jazz ever stopped playin’ never been nowhere the jazz
ever stopped playin’ aint never been nowhere the jazz ever stopped playiiinn’ and you are me again and I am yoouuuu
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American Fado Los Angeles, California
Underground space country garage punk. Yeah, that's what we said.
Or how about you just listen and tell
us what we sound like?
We like that plan best.
American Fado is:
Charles Claymore: Guitar; Bass; Synth; Baritone Guitar; Vocals;
Ustad Morelock: Guitar; Baritone Guitar;
Brian Redfern: electronica, bass, oud
Dave Miech: keys, backing vocals, percussion
fertilzerproductions
... more
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