Boxing Day 2011

by A bit Much

Boxing Day 2011 cover art
/
1.
06:14
lyrics

credits

released 26 December 2011
Clinton Degan - vocals, electric guitar
Abram Taber - electric bass
The Bird Man - drums
Tim Lillis - piano
Eric Provonsil - lap steel

Recorded by Jon Taft at New Alliance Audio, Cambridge, MA.

Mixed and Mastered by Clinton Degan at Secret Hole Studios, Cambridge, MA.

Artwork by A bit Much.

Special thanks to Jon Taft, Curtis Killian, Bryan Murphy, Mike Padgett, Eric Provonsil, Steve and Canada at Pirate Promotion (www.piratepirate.com), Michael Marotta (Boston Accents), Phil Fleming (The Dweezil Show) and Daniel Quinn.

tags

tags: pop power pop rock rock and roll soul rock Boston

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about

Rock 'n' Roll is not dead.

No, my friends, it's just approaching that time of life appallingly similar to death: middle age. And A bit Much is Rock 'n' Roll's mid-life crisis.

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Track Name: Captivity
I can’t find the bars of the cage/ And so I sit and stare into bounded space
My feet would follow if my eye, my mind could show me the route of escape
They hold you here with a tender touch/
A warm place in their arms for when you’ve had too much
Of wand’ring aimless in this blindfold’s age/ I can’t find the bars of the cage

It’s all owned, it’s all under rule/ So will you be thief, will you own some, too?
You’re free to choose, take care you're choosing to agree
Well, I don't know how to, but I can act as though I do
They’ll starve you out with indifference/
It’s never their fault they were born into these "sins"
Such innocence gloried by an indolent fool
Who could never tell you how it all came under rule

I gotta run, I can see the knives/ Pointing at my naked heart and unworthy life
You wanna make this effortless, wanna make tall gods
Out of people who are so circumscribed?
But there’s no beauty where desire can’t be
And you wanna snuff the body, smooth out physicality?
Hunger, sweat, and struggle, you’re the blood of my life
I’ve gotta run, I can see the knives

I can’t find the bars of the cage, but Lord help me I’ll look ‘til my dying day
I'm pitied from the bleacher seats cause I can't stand beside the need
I'm worthy and I don't want to be saved
I know your tradition: smug, but cold/ Time of the earplug, age of the blindfold
The society of suicide dug its own grave still groping for the bars of the cage