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Friends That You Don't Know

by The Drake Equation

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1.
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!
2.
S.E.T.I. 05:40
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
3.
4.
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
5.
Even more sick.

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 April 1, 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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