If Griefer, my shitty one-man band, is about anything, it’s about boredom and anxiety. I started it because I wanted to make something really, really loud – the volume helped, somehow. Then it morphed into something else. It lets me show a bit of myself that I usually have trouble showing. Music makes me a better person. I think it’s as simple as this: the reality of being a “bedroom musician” is waking up alone, surrounded by reminders of work you need to finish.
My second album is somewhat of a time capsule. These are the songs I wrote between realizing I needed to get better and doing something about it.
My alcoholism and dependence on other addictive behaviors (weed, sex, etc.) had progressed to a point where they had begun destroying every semblance of a good life I’d managed to build despite them. To preserve any chance I had at living well, I needed to change the way I spent each and every moment of my time. In order to honestly document these in musical form, I stripped away every instrument other than my voice, guitar, laptop, and tape recorder.
I grew up at war with the rest of the world.
Years later, I still fight the same battle.
by Sick Bookies
We are Sick Bookies from Lincoln, UK. For our second album, Analogue Viral, our bass player Les drew a comic strip about our band. Previously only available as a limited edition comic book coming with the CD, we now proudly present it for the first time digitally.
by Pillowsnake
This is a generic blog post introduction written by yours truly, Jacob La Follette. Pillowsnake is I, 23 and representing South Texas.
You know that thing in your pocket you don’t make phone calls with that isn’t your penis? I use that to make music.
Hi, I am Miira. I am living far from YOUR world. I mean far from this patriarchal-smallminded-selfcalled-society. This is a great pool and I am not very sure that I can swim there or if I even want to. So I created my own world, and I am trying to hold its contour above my head.
Driving (in the) snow from Kempten. I was supposed to put saucers and blondes together, but the reversable rider of Skye said „NO!”, and off he went on a rollercoaster ride of thrift shop guitars, carrying the torch for Lady Biba. The 4 A.M. Lamp kept burning, and sociopaths were rescued from their shady caves, turned into rainbows and oh! Butterflies „above the nation”. That was the dream of the Woodstock generation, now wasn’t it?
