Typhoon - "Floodplains: Wake / Rorschach / Empiricist / Algernon" [Official Audio] |
Description: Floodplains - featuring the songs "Wake", "Rorschach", "Empiricist" and "Algernon" - is the first movement of Typhoon's full-length album, Offerings, out now on Roll Call Records. Wake - 00:00 Rorschach - 03:50 Empiricist - 08:06 Algernon - 16:44 Purchase Offerings CD, 2xLP, digital: http://bitly/RCROfferings http://bit.ly/OfferingsBandcamp http://smarturl.it/OfferingsAmazon http://bit.ly/OfferingsiTunes http://www.wearetyphoon.store Visuals by: Nevan Doyle (http://www.mishko.co) Photos by: Matthew Thomas Ross (http:://www.matthewthomasross.com) LYRICS: FLOODPLAINS Down in the floodplains waiting on a cure Blessed be the water may the water make us pure Forms will be unborn in the mirror within the mirror Rejoice now, Rejoice now The Reckoning is here. WAKE Wake and I have been reborn. The tide concedes that homely shore and I am benighted. All my lines unlearned. Cry out will God (or somebody) please turn the light on. Restore me to that empty room—expands out like hot air balloons. A woman comes she brings me food. I shit the bed in solitude. My life one brief unbroken loop—goes round and round with nothing left to hold onto. But if there’s nothing, if there’s nothing, then what’s that song that keeps hounding me? In the still dark of the morning. Just one more cradle down the creek. Au revoir my little memories. Tell me: This is not your loss. This is your offering. RORSCHACH Eyes on the screen. We have all the information now but what does it mean? Reason’s a tease. Drank up all that hemlock, here I am just reading the leaves. Left wondering: what happened to the life we lost, that got lost in the living? All this fiction makes me nervous, turns out it was blood spilled on the canvas we admired just like some Rorschach painting. The film in your brain—it edits to remember, keeps the figure in the frame. A sacrificial violence, all those passed over in silence then cast out with the blame. And I’m trying to stay sane—meanwhile, the river of forgetfulness starts spilling the banks. Caught in a lie and instead of fessing up we'd sooner just go out of our heads. I’ve been holding up my end when I should have doubled down on my own atom bomb shelter instead. EMPIRICIST Empty room. Cast about for a familiar object. Because my body needs coordinates to move. In the dark. Range of motion shrivels all around me. All my nightmares I am slowly being cocooned. A single calf in the hecatomb. Crescent moon. Hollowed out of all my fabled insides. Occam shave me down to primal truth—return me to the womb. Mother pulled from father’s ribs, little baby in a crib, hands reaching up. Before the blinding light is split through the prism of your organs into color. All that being and nothingness, on the same möbius strip. Sleep and waking up. On the first day. Wipe the blank slate. And you join the banquet. Served up helpless on a plate. You find your land legs. And you learn to imitate. You’ll wear any feathers and hope that your efforts attract a mate. One day your children find you, locked in the bathroom, staring in horror at the reflection of your face. You say you're sorry to the guests at your party. But you can't help wonder, who is this person you celebrate? And so the light fades. It’s still your birthday. Blow out your past lives like they're candles on the cake. ALGERNON A woman leans in her chair. Holds her face close to mine. She’s curious, am I comfortable? Would I care to give it one more try? She holds the picture up while she studies my eyes. I’m trying hard to recall the routine, but I can't and so I improvise. This one's of my father. Wearing ladies clothes. I walked in on him once as a kid. Must have thought nobody else was home. It's a lie and she knows. But there's no other use. And anyway what you want and what you want to be are easily confused. The moment stretches on. Like the first day of school and I've answered wrong. Like a self-enclosed short-circuit goes around forever until it's gone. A woman shrinks in her chair. She says the picture's of you. I have no idea what she's talking about but I nod my head as if I do. Look at there such a strong man. All the virtues of youth. You led a good life by every account. There were people who looked up to you. I say enough is enough. You have found me out. You have called my bluff. I don't know anything about this stuff. I’m just tired and I’m waiting for my wife to pick me up. A woman slouched in her chair disrupts the silence to say. The part of you that I love is still in there even if it doesn't know my name. The moment stretches on. Like the colonnade at the Parthenon. It’s an unmarked grave but somebody's laid some flowers for Algernon. ------ Typhoon is an indie rock band from Portland, Oregon. 
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