Originally released March 3, 2015 on Polyvinyl Record Co. on CD, LP, cassette and digital formats.

CD, LP, cassette, digital – http://www.polyvinylrecords.com/aureategloom

Kevin Barnes (guitars, vocals), Clayton Rychlik (drums, percussion, clarinet, vocals), Jojo Glidewell (keys, synths), Bob Parins (bass, clarinet), Bennet Lewis (guitars), Kishi Bashi (strings, vocals).

TRACKLIST:

1. Bassem Sabry
2. Last Rites At The Jane Hotel
3. Empyrean Abattoir
4. Aluminum Crown
5. Virgilian Lots
6. Monolithic Egress
7. Apollyon Of Blue Room
8. Estocadas
9. Chthonian Dirge For Uruk The Other
10. Like Ashoka’s Inferno Of Memory

LYRICS:

Bassem Sabry

they killed our electric guitars and if not for the good people weeping all we’d hear is sounds of our horses dying but i’m not bout to start crying about it
it must be fairly normal to devolve into cycloptic brooding as the genocidal massacres erupt over some perceived sedition,
insecurities of men messing everything up again
all us charmed proteins feral in the gales only

i have never followed no kind of master’s voice
the mutinous tramp of cult voltage crucifixion is my conduit
i just watched my hero fail now i’m in a dark and violent funk
every leader is a cellophane punk, if you hear me say yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah!

there must be a softer vision that you could kick to in this aureate gloom i assume
both sides are embarrassingly backwards in their thinking
there aint no one to side with none i’d want not defend
it’s only the mute minded surge of simian blood
people disappear on the wrong side of this revolution when they resurface there’s a black hole in their skull
people disappear on the wrong side of this revolution when they’re returned all their childhood memories are dead

i have never followed no kind of master’s voice
the mutinous tramp of cult vulture crucifixion is my conduit
i just watched my hero fail now i’m in a dark and violent funk
every leader is a cellophane punk, if you hear me say yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah!

i have never followed no kind of master’s voice
the mutinous tramp of cult voltage crucifixion is my conduit
i just watched my hero fail now i’m in a dark and violent funk
every leader is a cellophane punk, if you hear me say yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah!

i believe in witches i believe in you

Last Rites At The Jane Hotel

other people can be so disappointing, i need to spend more time alone
what gives us the right to be so depressing, 224 west 16th street was our cathedral

these tears i cry for you must prove that i’m not the demon that i’m meant to be

you say you love me though just like you i’m too shady, knowing what you know it must be hard to trust someone who’s so similar to yourself
don’t you know it’s pointless to try and bully me into caring more, it’s through no fault of your own it’s really just the boredom of being someone’s captive

these tears i cry for you must prove that i’m not the demon that i’m meant to be

drinking at the Jane Hotel till it was overrun by terrible people we heard them say his name from the train

as usual eyes dead from anti-anxiety meds and the old gang grasping for air that’s not there

seeking out my own authentic season in hell though it doesn’t feel quite as pompous least not as i can tell

the misery loop that you sent me on it wrecked me for other summers but now that i am free and almost alone down in Chelsea i feel better

why would you ask why should you care how i am doing? do i bother you with those kinds of vapid questions anymore?
i wanna matter “i wanna be your friend” not a poison, this kind of love, our kind of love is so demoralizing

Empyrean Abattoir

winter isn’t much here just a flinching centigrade though the grasses all look jaundiced and the poplar branches flayed
oh the poplar branches flayed
before your hysterical silence you came rapping at my door with your body as a sacrament your mind a killing floor
oh your mind a killing floor

i’ve been trying to quell my anger and not feel bitter about all the darkness you gave
but as always there’s that device that i cannot disengage

just as a red terror you tried to kill what you couldn’t reign and now you’re back in Knoxville masturbating your father’s pain
oh masturbating your father’s pain

stealing from his oration of filth i repeat the wickedness to force reactions out of you
but it never hurts as deeply as i want it to

think i’ll mix my medicine and explore it till i’m dull, you’ve made my sky a graveyard and my moon a funeral
oh my moon a funeral

now it’s just a system of subtraction, i won’t even turn around to notice your reaction
now it’s just a system of subtraction, i won’t even feel the hateful vibing of your faction
now it’s just a system of subtraction, what ever happened to your star? now no one cares who you are now

you were once beloved by my people now it’s bad luck to even say your name
when i see you it feels so awkward i try to be cool but it’s such a drag
i waited for you on O’Farrell street smelling other people’s piss

how could you think you seen me backwards babe? you ain’t even seen the blikk fang babe, it’s not acrimonious now
it’s only systems of subtraction, i won’t even turn around to look at your reaction
now it’s just a system of subtraction, what ever happened to your star now no one cares who you are
you used to share my broken thrown now you sing flat alone

Aluminum Crown

troubled dreams troubled dreams i’ve been cursed by troubled dreams i’ve been hurt by troubled dreams
troubled dreams troubled dreams i’ve been worked on by troubled dreams i’ve been hurt by troubled dreams

you can’t let them hear what you’re thinking or they will throw you back into jail
an aluminum crown it could scramble their gear if you keep it on while you are sleeping
oh now that you’re a threat to them they want to wire-tap your nerves
they want to drive you mad with inner-oculi surveillance and sub-cognitive harassment

troubled dreams troubled dreams i’ve been cursed by troubled dreams i’ve been haunted by troubled dreams
troubled dreams troubled dreams i’ve been worked on by troubled dreams i’ve been hurt by troubled dreams

Virgilian Lots

the pigs are taking shots at the mourners on the hill, i’m truly not neutral but i lost all direction
the day i awoke ready to blow the bridge but finding you hand over your mouth so instead i burned my own village down

i’m grieving for you my love and i don’t understand what’s going on

just as the twin volcanoes of Quauhnahuac we were once fabled, so sad i must bury every thought of you before it shows its teeth
now i amuse myself with a dubious form of Virgilian Lots, like your neo-feminist divinations

i’m grieving for you my love and i don’t understand what’s going on

all my memories once almost sacred are embarrassments to me now
of the three things i find most shocking the first is how trivial you are
the second is my depth of feeling, third the purity of our collapse

grieving for you my love and i don’t understand what’s going on

Monolithic Egress

there are no blood hunger parasites on his side of the mirror but on my side it’s getting bleak
our words are so much louder now that we almost never speak

outside i’m desert inside i’m howling
no you never did me wrong we’ve just been together too long babe

go deeply he said go silently he said

i think i’m pinging in the dead of sky cause my cocoon is threaded in soft metals if you’d absorb the mountain you could join me there
we’ll both be ugly failures and we won’t even care

outside i’m desert inside i’m howling

we were the raping of the embryonic virgin spring, no fun out of that state
i can only bury the statues cause the dead have already been eaten, threw a rock punctured the skull of the sea started a freeze out again

i picture you a waif on a pacific break where the yawning void of your childhood sorrows can’t haunt you
and along my miserable returns hating myself like i know that you want me to do
but there was always the Passion of Saint Matthew in my head to say she knows me, what do you know?

should we endeavor to hate each other just to feel like we’re moving pieces?
i know that i will always need to possess you in the abstract

in mock celebration of our centipede plague raving we set the stables into porphyrian flames
you can turn on me but then you must expect the same, i’m not a different man cause you now call me by some fucked up name

there is no sympathy for the ox or the brutal wars that we don’t even bother naming
just as our victimless suicides the future is a poseur and i’m drenched in glass

Apollyon of Blue Room

on a drunk with dark globe and doom invocations of somebody’s doped demon brother, the opiate drone of her gaze
the anodyne days the cracked bas-relief of Hellenic summer
the cabalic kilo i know that she’s only trying to score and not very human anymore
the loom has gone lame, the pattern’s insane, the agents have wigged out
the pulse is corrupt, La Chota’s a blank, no function

we seven of the Aegean sleep deprivation experiment stumbling around Monastiraki Square crawling to her in my undress
my heart is a mess, the ruins depress, the shrill of our withering depths, the din is intense
i sense that she’s finally turned the lock but i just want my Anatolian Rock
i’ve been through so many deaths that i don’t know which name to answer to, fidelity breeds madness, i trashed the heights, the peak

and now i’m on my own, no violence on the telephone, you’re a child of neglect but you turned out ok
the way my psyche rioted i was just as shot, your new lover like a hearse our Iliad of failure

i recoil at the sound, the milking of vipers onto the barren dirt and just past the orchards
lurking beneath the Hyades, satins of vicious YaYo societies
i can’t get no rest, my dreams are corrosive, nightmares scalp empires too, my thoughts are voltaic, i’m such a downer, huh?

and now i’m on my own, no violence on the telephone, you’re a child of neglect but you turned out ok
the way my psyche rioted i was just as shot, you’re new lover like a hearse our Iliad of failure

Estocadas

the natives have a name for me but i can’t remember what it is, some fucker took what’s mine now he’s acting like she’s his
your shifty friend gave you a cactus for a gift
such a stupid offering, what’s it meant to symbolize, a hostile immobility? is that something to prize?
the floodlights and generator hum render sleeping some myth of men

the morning finds me lying with my face pressed to the glass door
this summer’s been nothing but rain, nature is writhing in her own filth again

we took the bus to Plaza de Toros on a dare, you cried all through the bullfight and cursed me for taking you there
riding back in silence to the hostel thinking only of the estocadas

the morning finds me lying with my face pressed to the glass door
this summer’s been nothing but rain, nature is writhing in her own filth again

Chthonian Dirge For Uruk The Other

raw unnatural vaqueros with their wild minded apotropaic pisces
executing holographic sadists among the pecan
sign of the horn to the bitchin’ Falconvein
exploding silver acetylene flares

Like Ashoka’s Inferno of Memory

the music stopped and i awoke i can laugh at myself if i get the joke, somebody is paying attention and not coping well with all the concrete
he ruined you without a single intelligent word, sometimes you get the punishment that somebody else deserved
but a man must have his conquests to keep his spirits high and i…

and i heard you whimpering from behind the red curtain, i just rolled my eyes and went back to my book,
i realized then,if ever there was something alive in you, something i could love, that thing must now be dead
i asked if i could come visit her in her living grave, the place where she and her circumstantial husband stay,
to whisk her away or at least shake things up but who am i to break up an unhappy home?
and you, you said you wanted to murder your rabbit heart, well you mustn’t it’s the part of you that i love the best
you must keep it safe, let it stay wild, let it stay free, it what makes you special so much better than me

i sent you missives from the Carriage Inn, you started killing our story before it could even begin
mourning us almost keeps you alive but in the wasteland of my memory i know that you’ll never survive

she recited Ohara’s “Having a Coke With You” while my friends were at a bar outside of Lido
smoking hash talking anti-america trash

i want to be your Carl Solomon not something you fear, i kissed you darkly on the South Street Seaport Pier
she’s the daughter of the owl i’m the fox’s brother, why’s it so hard for us to say nice things to each other
i know she feels for me i know she does what she can but still i’m out in New York City being the other man
i don’t want to make things messy, he’s someone i respect, it’s an evil situation but i guess i deserve it, i guess that it is
karmically correct