Friends That You Don't Know

by The Drake Equation

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about

Esteemed Patron,

The Album available here was written and recorded during the fall and winter (respectively) of the year 2011 by the four young men collectively known as The Drake Equation: Patrick Hammond Troester, who sang lead vocals and played keyboard; Cameron Dallas Ferranti, who played guitars and keyboard; Michael Xavier "Brownbear" Ross, who played bass; and Michael Milton Mast, who played drums; all four members contrubuted background vocals. It was recorded at Esoterrarium Studios in Wexford Pennsylvania with additional work completed at Post Hoc Studios in Edinboro, Pennsylvania. The Album was produced by Mr. Ferranti, with the engineering assistance of Mr. Troester. It will be printed with the help of Robert Angelo Jensen for release through his fine organization, Basement Transmissions Records. The Album's artwork is a product of the prodigious efforts of Mr. Ross.

The Drake Equation would also like to make special mention of nonmusical contributions from the following individuals: Morgan Ambros and Jesse Gordon Brace, who came forward to give the group a home after the authroities enforced local noise ordinances at Mr. Mast's residence; John Richard Ferranti Jr., proprietor of Esoterrarium Studios and an indespensable amateur authority on Pittsburgh pho establisments; The Empty Keg, for operating the finest drinking establishment in the state as well as providing regular mortal sustenance for our boys; The Lower Eastside Connection (and Keith August Golembiewski in particular) for supplemental equipment contributions and general camaraderie; and finally Mr. Spencer "Speedy Nubs" Nubowski for his vitality and personal fortitude, which is a continuing source of inspiration to us all.

I would like to leave you with a few thoughts on just exactly how you the listener fit into this great creative undertaking. In the course of most artistic ventures, the responsibility of the audience is easily and often overlooked. Please, for your own sake, keep in mind that this recording constitutes nothing more or less than what you interpret it to be. Despite the careful authorship and creative construction on the part of Misters Troester, Ferranti, Ross, and Mast, the moment these songs were first laid to track, our boys’ intellectual ownership of them became forfeit. Enter the central conundrum of literary interpretation: In the act of submitting a work before an audience, the author surrenders his supposed authority over its acceptation. True ownership, as well as the paramount devoir of construing any sort of subtextual meaning from said work is therefore transferred to that audience. I’d ask that you take this charge seriously, and appreciate the fact that, in your role as listener, you represent not the terminal point of the artistic process, but the potential for its indefinite continuation.

It is equally important however, that you not confuse the above philosophical musing for that so-called “creative commons” new-age drivel or anything resembling implied permission to use this work for your own petty financial gain. Share, spread, and propagate to your heart’s content, but remember that this work has in fact been registered with the United States Copyright Office (©2012), and unauthorized attempts to profit from its contents will be met with a firm legal bitch slap.


Cheers,

Dr. Horatio "Buzzkill" Johnson

credits

released 01 April 2012

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The Drake Equation Edinboro, Pennsylvania

The Drake Equation brings you engaging and intelligent hard rock made by dangerous radicals who read books and shit...

-The Lineup-

Pat Troester - Vocals, Keys, Samples
Cam Ferranti - Guitar, Vocals, Keys, Samples
Mike Ross - Bass, Vocals
Mike Mast- Drums
Buzzkill Johnson - Inspiration, Political Theory, Black Powder Hunting
... more

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Track Name: (The Esoteric Ravings of) Buzzkill Johnson
I’ve got friends that you don’t know
And we’ve got madness of our own
I think we’re on to something here
There’s one you would not understand
Cause he’s such an esoteric man
Somehow his motives aren’t yet clear

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!

This trite fashion overgrown
This culture you bought as your own
Well don’t you wonder where it came from?
That fleeting image stretched so far
Made you both prisoner and guard
You’ll never free yourself from this one

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!

[A brief monologue by Mr. Horatio "Buzzkill" Johnson]:
Quite contrary to the quasi-optimistic mantra of the liberal democratic establishment, casual resistance is a vapid gesture; merely a dead metaphorical allegoric manifestation of the snake eating its own tail. See, all of the good loopholes and conveniently accessible exits have long since been redirected; gormandized, perverted, and paved smooth by a self-embellishing xenophobic totalitarian cultural monolith reflexively seeking to neutralize any outstanding challenges to its own venerated mediocrity. To make matters worse, you’re implicated by association from the very beginning and therefore equally culpable as the greedy cigar-chewing thugs who toil tirelessly behind all manner of curtains to perpetually dull the already blunt business end of this diversionary macabre reality show. Think about it: your slightest actions yield chaotic consequences beyond your wildest comprehension; while simultaneously the entire ambit of your so-called “human experience’ is both directed and facilitated by shadow forces so elemental to the whole charade that you probably wouldn’t notice them even if I did take the time to show you.
…and as for the alternatives?...[chuckle]…you’re nowhere near ready for that shit…

So look out (look out)
Look out (look out)
Look out (look out) here come the freak show now!
Track Name: S.E.T.I.
I have seen your truer face
The skin beneath the silk and lace
The subtle curve and angle of your hips
The paralyzing apathy
Blindly looking back at me
Echoing the silence on your lips

I can fight the gravity
The ghost of feeling chasing me
I'll leave it on the page and walk away
Picked apart and analyzed
Polished into clever lines
Everything that I could never say
To you

Darling, I just want to see you fight for something
Stand up and hold a little ground
Would you rather see a story end in nothing?
THROW UP YOUR HANDS! and let the world lead you around

Thought outside the reach of will
Distant but familiar still
The same old pattern panning out again
A scene to match the memory
In agonizing clarity
Standing on the margin looking in

Silent, slipping through your hands
Anger I can understand
The dire consequences of the dream
Madness by another name
The moth that truly loves the flame
Unafraid to stand outside and scream...

Darling, I just want to see you fight for something
Stand up and hold a little ground
Would you rather see a story end in nothing?
THROW UP YOUR HANDS! and let the world lead you around

That picture stole a tiny piece of you
And dragged you back to brighter days
It's something way beyond a memory
Not worth the effort to explain

Far away and free but still you can't let go
Bound in by sensation hiding just below
Even when you close your eyes you're not alone
When what you know just makes you wonder what you don't
Track Name: Extraordinary Popular Delusions and The Madness of Crowds
This story holds such lovely pictures
Woven in diction near divine
Dogmatic watercolor fiction
The myth and legend of your time
Come see how quickly it dissolves
Your feint composure cast away
See temper sliding to a higher state of disarray
Lit up for lack of a better way
Burning down
Somehow I fail to see the beauty
The classic robin hood romance
Caught in a shower of burning snowflakes
Soldiers in riot gear advance
Come see how quickly it dissolves
I hear you beg the question but I think you know
You slowly built this fire on the times and
It will only grow
Track Name: The Fatalist in the Daylight Hours
Even more sick.