Antagonize

by Boatrocker

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    Artwork by Seth Mushrush
    Pressed by Sire Press
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about

This is our second full-length!

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released January 18, 2014

Recorded at Big Blue Meenie Recording Studios Summer of 2013
Mastered at West West Side Music
Artwork by Seth Mushrush

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Boatrocker Wilmington, Delaware

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Track Name: Blind Spot
Faced with a choice of two roads and try as I might, I couldn't find which was the least traveled by -- and even after I decided to go back and try one at a time, I still couldn't make up my mind -- until I realized that focusing on the divide caused me to leave all of my senses behind.

I've doubled back again so I can take it all in and I'm taking it all in. That's when I begin to see echoes of myself within; within everything like some chronic viral infection. It's a humbling reminder of just how stupid I've been.

If there's nothing new under the sun then that's fine, we'll only go out at night. If everywhere we look it's been done before then it's alright. If our happiness is just a fleeting illusion then we'll become faster magicians.
Track Name: In the Key of Atheism
Pack your bags and ditch the beliefs. Commit this place to memory. We've let it go to waste for civility's sake. Superstition's retrograde. Let it stay, it'll be in good company. Given the world and we're giving it right back. Put it out to pasture. I say we take off and nuke the site from orbit -- let em have it. Get off this fucking planet.

We've got everything you need to get up off your knees. We've got melodies in the key of atheism. We've got hymns for a soul that's mechanical and psalms to glorify the gods inside us all.

Commit this place to memory -- give it time to age, so one day we can look back and laugh at all the mistakes we made and wonder what became. Given the world and we're giving it right back. Put it out to pasture. Call it a reverse rapture. Call it whatever.

Pack your bags and ditch your beliefs. Let's commit this place to memory. I say we take off and nuke the site from orbit -- let em have it. Get off this fucking planet.
Track Name: Still Coming Up Short
This is where you lose me. To celebrate celestial tyranny; how it drives these continuous mockeries of morality. Locked arms in fast food solidarity for an all-seeing oppressor who'd torture what he creates. You're praising traits reserved for the villains of history and this is where you lose me.

When you're reduced to being defined by servitude, these chains, they take on a sense of pride -- a unifying prize for the luckiest of god's blessed. It makes the term "religious freedom" seem funny to me. This kind of love could only be mass produced.

There goes all your credit, alongside your confidence. Well I'm sorry, sir, you're still coming up short.

When the greatest story ever told turns out to be just another pyramid scheme and when you're praising traits reserved for the villains of history... this is where you lose me.
Track Name: Antagonize
Confined to a box in a plot should feel just like home when you've spent years getting familiar with the narrow and the enclosed. Put on your Sunday best. There's a lot riding on this -- riding on this emptiness and these empty promises. Congratulations are in order. The way has been paved for; graves have been made for the voyage you've prayed for. It's all you have left and when they lay you to rest you'll be all dressed up with nowhere to go; nothing to show; no home above and nothing below.

You can turn the other cheek to hide the bad side off screen and show only what you want seen. If this is what it means to be made in the image of divinity, the maker's masterpiece is a catastrophe and he's fucking ugly. This is a disease. It causes otherwise ordinary people to say and do fucked up things.

Behind a curtain of human nature, meaningless gestures and cherry-picked standards are being glossed over by a teacher who leads by example.

Put on your Sunday best. There's a lot riding on this -- riding on this emptiness and these empty promises. The way has been paved for; graves have been made for the voyage you've prayed for. It's all you have left and when they lay you to rest you'll be all dressed up with nowhere to go; nothing to show; no home above and nothing below.
Track Name: White Noise
All I see is a fool with his wool so tightly pulled that static cling seems to be an idiom for life philosophy. An epithet would be more accurate but the irony's that static oddly fits 'cause all I hear is noise. The irony's that static oddly fits 'cause all I hear is noise.

Distortions of free speech and unearned calls for respect. These are symptoms of a bubble-world existence.

In effigy we'll be burning these accusations of white-knighting and other Middle Age era decrees. So won't you take time to mourn the leavings of the fence that you've been sitting on, and the imaginary persecution that comes along with the drowning out of these cacophonies. You're more than free to keep screaming, but all I hear is noise.

The irony's that static oddly fits 'cause all I hear is noise.
Track Name: Steady
These endless pity parties and preemptive apologies only serve to offload responsibility and bite the hand that feeds. When ambition doesn't match expectations, frustration becomes a common theme and failure seems to be all too regular.

No offense but I'd be looking for something a little more life affirming.

Maybe if you'd stop shooting yourself in the feet, we could stop discussing why you shouldn't be putting those bullets into your head instead.
Track Name: Nothing To Say
Is your lack of inclusion something really in question? Are a closed door metaphor and the view from the sidelines something more than what you'd have hoped for? If you really need an explanation, you were left behind because we deal with that shit every day. You were forgotten about 'cause you've really got nothing to say.

Shock us with the brilliance of a spectator's ignorance and the wisdom of an armchair experience and the noticeable omission of the most basic of requirements: something to say. You've really got nothing to say.

Like a chameleon desperate to blend in -- defensive through attention to color not so willingly lent, but co-opted, depreciated and wasted -- wasted on imitations.

You've got nothing to say, and so we've got nothing to say.