Schmo Mechanics

by Glow Mechanics

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about

Schmo Mechanics release party, Dec. 8 at First Ave's 7th Street Entry with Rapper Hooks, Chantz Erolin (Audio Perm) and Beasthead. Facebook event: ow.ly/qrTfp

"Still Buggin'" music video: youtu.be/67mGkMpvGG0
"Aloft" music video: youtu.be/sl2vW-4INXA
"Toasty" music video: youtu.be/5b11FYzvpO0
"Aloft" live on Radio K: youtu.be/M8kf2nFysQs

credits

released 08 December 2013
Written, produced, recorded, and mixed by Glow Mechanics.
Mastered by Knol Tate.
Raps by Ghostmeat and Bev. Beats by Es El.
Art by Kurtis Benson.

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about

Glow Mechanics Minneapolis, Minnesota

Hip hop trio. Minneapolis. When life gives you lemons, hop dimensions until you find the one where that's the only currency accepted.

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Track Name: (Question 1)
Excuse me, I'd like to introduce you to a new kind of centaur -- it's half horse and half glue.
It's the 90's now, and tasks will be asked of you. It's not enough to go around doing what you have to do. I like wine in the afternoon, bitters in the evening, and a shift in life's meaning for every single season. What I mean, is time keeps tugging at the seams and soon I'll be the one death-staring into the high beams.

Shoes on the table, with no intent of lacing up. Cats in the dog park, they're occupied, just raining pups.
Hate to be on Nicollet when Eat Street eats you. I'll be heading around the corner from Go-Go to come and greet you.

This is a bring-your-own-brazenness establishment, and if you want to wait on yourself, that'd be fabulous. We can't guarantee all the rules will be regular, we can guarantee a relatively steady temperature.
I go from cut off, to reattached, grown up and thrown out, to dreams of a bleak past, to rehash some old trash, to this, that, and the other. Knocked back to a curved surface and fell off it -- these are a few of my favorite topics.

He talked the Buddha's ear off, with no regard for his advice. He crumbled in that corner, which I must admit I kinda liked. Don't be startled, you've stumbled upon an old start. This is just a brief survey and thank you for taking part.
Track Name: No Time
It's coming across, but wondering why some of it's coming up blah? Maybe the days aren't giving me pause, maybe there's not enough to be rubbing me wrong. And since it's easy to keep running in a polygon, I'm greasing up the rat wheel and running til the fat peels. And pickin up a shiny piece, putting it back backwards. Not a page turner, but hopefully at least a spine cracker. Forlorn lonestar. Crowded ass galaxy. Rat pack racketeer. Half-fact factory. Half-pulled weight, full credit take-r, set-er straight-er. One-man sold out matinee show inside an elevator.

Take a full pull off of full fledged lunacy and find a way to breathe it back into a life of go along -- not quite tomfoolery, but balance on the axis, of soul soaring let-go and cold focused practice. No sweet gold; no sour squalor coward hour. Just a millon vacant lots with dwellers growing flowers on em. And they grow like this…

I always get my Z's so I can mind my P's and Q's, appease the gods by conquering all seven seas quite easily and move strategically. I'm on my kill-and-can-the-weak-of-heart, and started in with contradictions like the way that I used to be. But wait, if they stay at the top of the food chain, then why the fuck are they trying to munch me from the ankles up? The blood pumps, rushes and boils for more than your amusement, and that's more awe-inspiring than anything I'll say today.

I got one mouth for listening and two ears for talking, so you can breathe new life into me and listen to my thoughts and then sum me up with no prior knowledge of mathematics. I still get mine from hustlers cause I don't buy from addicts. And I'm anti-trash, and anti-fake-anti-establishment cats. End of list for this particular tirade. I've searched every single fiber of carpet in this apartment trying to find where the unraveling started. I did my best, no luck yet.
Track Name: Relax II
I delve into myself. Introspective for the record, want the finished product, only see the etching. I'm a bit non-plussed, and that's the correct usage, but I wouldn't be so salty if I wasn't fucking stupid.
I'm that bomb.com-bastic kid. Composite half-flesh-half-plastic grin, a hard-line pedestrian. Walking this town until every single level ends. A little sun, a sidewalk is all I need to revel in.

The basics, yeah, I know how to do 'em, but that's a tall order with no head room for improvement. And if you do it, will it become a movement? I mean, will it even matter or will you just be a nuisance? I'm putting in my two cents but only a penny for your thoughts; moral of the story: invest in better stocks. And if you end up better off, make the funds mutual. It doesn't matter what you do, it's more who you do it to.

I am the one who makes it talk, the one who shakes it off, and when it's time to walk I walk along until I'm lost. I find myself in the strangest of places -- close to the vest and on the table next. And I promise as long as I live that I'll take half as much as I can give out.
Track Name: Gone
Wanna walk a tight rope? Cinch it even tighter. I'm six degrees away from every brown Bic lighter. And I'm happy that wood's more abundant than fire, there's a war going on, I save some rubber for the tires. And the apple of my eye turned to cider, so now that every time I blink the bright spots get brighter. And now the blasphemy is passed out next to me, and every ballad's turning out way too anthem-y.

It's like you want to see a magic trick but can't fathom that the man's hand is actually behind the hankerchief. Pull the wool over your eyes before you know it your sensory's frozen, hoping to be a mathmetician donning a dunce's clothing. I shift perspectives, eye of the needle and the record. Have's, have not's, max and half-steppers. Air, fire, water, earth, mantle, crust, core. Knock 'em out the box and lock 'em behind doors.

What am I locking and why am I locking it? Where is the key and what'll I do with it?

I turn the key slow, melt it down for gold, sell it to afford to teleport home. And I got what I came for, more than the lion's share, gluttony shines the light in the eyes of playing fair. I sell shares of sunlight hoping to make a quick killing off it. Quickly learn the difference of the prophet and the philosophic. Growth knows the simplest route is photosynthesis -- reach for the sky, don't limit your mind.

Another new-fangled fad from New Fanglad that made it's way through the thick, gnarled skin of the mainland. And hit its mark in the dark impossibly, and mulched its deed to fertilize its property. Creation loves the organic, but soil fell to the wayside of this sky-scraping steel-lined planet. No button for panic but surely cause for alarm -- you know it's a problem when your own body's wishing you harm.
Track Name: T. the Water Breather
Dandelions -- the perfect peace offering between ants and lions. I know, cause I'm a past supplier. And bubbles are the only way to keep the air humble. I know cause I can always hear it grumble in the canopy, where this monkey mind maintains its sanity. I know cause it runs in the family. And if you have to ask that patch of grass, it'll just laugh, nod, turn its back and grant you amnesty.

The forest is abuzz with wings and guts, what you spectator outsiders probably call bugs. They're rocking poker faces, creative and impossibly patient. Most softer than the armor that they're cased in. And faced with two options, always take the one closest to the sun -- it's better to burn than rust. And if that old tree gets stuck up in a rut, he knows he's always got his old birds there to back him up. So what?

I got a doggone case of multiplicity system. Get gone, lest you get swirled up in the goddamn system. And the pissed fox meets the all-day hokey chipper okey-dokey donkey. Nice guys finish last unless the nice guy's good at talking. Rules of the animal kingdom expressly bar schlubs. The (1) you really want to remember is don't pick silly tiffs with big stuff. (2) is never eat what you have never seen eaten, and (3) is bite the hand that feeds if you do not like getting picked up.

Rhinos don't know science but they're born with mystic alchemy. They don't need a phrase to know to not piss toward a swelling breeze. They can raise their progeny, never read a book, and turn and send that kid to god knows what and never take a second look. Try that on for size a sec -- that's tougher than it seems. Maybe that's why babies suffocate from over-feeding teats. I hope you don't retreat in the face of a thirsty logging truck. The turtle saw the motorboat and shrugged, like, so what?
Track Name: J. the Belly Sleeper
Remember, only serve what you would eat yourself because slop is slop and it's not gold to someone else. And I've chopped and changed so much that I've ended up with a bunch of small parts in a large range and yet they're all the same. I was that kid who always wished for wicked winters like "yes! This is gonna be the worst one yet." And I'm not one to fuss so huff what you must to become productive, but are you doing so to quell apathy or stay happy?

I'm the doctor scooping up the medicine and giving it to all the people evenly and yes I'll even take a little nibble for myself so I can keep on keeping on, but nothing more than a bump so the people still believe in me to do what is just. Jumping up a couple of poetry majors with the same style that gave them theirs, giving advice to pages that have yet to dog their ears.

I'll trade inventions for precious metals and pull at the root of the problem if you promise to poison the petals. Like, "He loves me," "He loves me not," "He doesn't even exist." I was promised a slice of paradise but all I got was the gist. If you get me now then I'll get you later.

Lowest common denominator. That's why we all have something in common with our neighbors, sit around the spit and watch the vapors rise as we nurse bottles of ale. You can trace this behavior back to cave drawings -- it's the mother of human nature vs. nurture spoon fed on a search for sustenance, and there's two sides to every story, so who's to say what justice did? You are not judge or jury, you are just a willing listener, and I know that half my handouts will become abandon discs.

Abandon hope, abandon ship, don't want my opinions? Abandon this. I love constructive criticism as much as critics constructing shit. And I can't tell a screw from a nail if all of the ridges aren't there, so I put up pillars and pavement before I laid the foundation. Put the cart before the horse, drag it 'til it's dead and gone. Chop it up and call it gourmet, sell it to the grocery stores, and raise the price outrageously cause you know folks'll buy it. I turn my nose up at it and knock it, because I've tried it. I'll get you now if you get me later.
Track Name: Aloft
Iron fist and a heart on my sleeve yet I'm pleased to the third degree. And the story goes, "Excuse me, sir?" "Yes friend, what do you need?" "Can I get a smoke, light, a lager? Can I stay a little longer? I could use some food and shelter from the sweltering heat." "Yeah, but when you get diseased I thank you kindly to leave." And kindness costs nothing so my tunage is free and you can tune into a view the likes of which your noodles never known.
I'm not new to the swing of things. Bring it out of neutral to put some juice in your movement. Dammit. The hand of God's damage. Wrath isn't satisfying if you try to plan it, if you got a seed plant it, if not, don't panic. Let your problems bubble up and pass you by -- like rivers, trees, rocks, the animals, all that. Don't concern yourself with what lurks in tall grass. Or the peeks out of window when you're wondering who might be with you.

Trust me -- I've fallen victim to all these. The narrower the path the less likely to last, as well as: grand entrance, final exit, is it what makes it tick or just the cog's henchman?

I let out a slick guffaw inside the warm fleshy arms of my adopted laws. And inside those, too, like a Russian doll, I saw the infinite loop at the end of it all. I always bring a map with, and double check the address. Slickers know this city but they undersell its vastness. Fastest is bestest, but slowest sees the mostest, so I'll drink any Kool Aid if I can tinker with the potion.

Nothing comes and goes as easy as a hopeful feeling that talks from the corner of its mouth, and casts no doubt. But I know that now, so I'll go back out and field another team of well-meaning hypocrites. The waiting life is really getting old. But these burning questions are turning out too hot to hold, so I'm taking this old show back up on the road and maybe post up in some cookie-cutter suburb of the danger zone.
Track Name: Still Buggin'
Ashes to ashes, fractals to fractals. The other-side static doesn't come with closed captions. It does come with everyone you've ever called an asshole that actually just sported a different twist on fashion.
Yeah, but I'll take another route on that one. I'll go with active to passive, and rust to dust, spun front to the back end. And it does come with everything inside your frame of reference that actually contributes to the way that you've been thinking.

Yeah, but I'll melt like a fudgesicle, not grab on to unas cosas, porque I know I'm plugging back into the hive psychosis. Nothing to fear about that except maybe fear's uncanny knack to crawl back. Step in, take all of that, pick your favorite fixin's get a solid glass. Mix it up and strain it over ice for when you're falling back. Head or feet first, they both hurt, so just go. The deck is stacked against the first one to flinch.

To flinch when I punch is to wince at the sun, is to wish that you didn't wish that your wishes didn't come. And if you ever feel like there are things you can't control then you take those things to the back of the house and put them down without a doubt. Pick your poise, dealer's choice, something's coming over me. Overlord, overbearing, maybe half but probably more. Probably nice, probably right, softest spot, often not, something really isn't right about this situation.

This situation is out of all hands capable of proper management, brandishing lackluster performance out of order and ordinance. Konami kid no show so no codes to be had, and dumb luck won't get high scores on the cabinet. The cabinets are lavish and they're having them a grand old time atop the powdered pillow puffs of the suburban afterlife. They piece is altogether just as pleasing as they please, and whitewash their ideas of their wants against their needs and say: something really isn't right about this situation.
Track Name: Toasty
I keep pace with my doom. The record doesn't skip, the needle just gets stuck in the same groove. You're not your routines, they grow accustomed to you, but if they want the patients'll still get down in the rec room. Take pains to make them least expect you. Tag has never been a game to play with less than 2. A fake Phelps swimming in a manmade cesspool. I don't want a part of any parade you gotta pay to do.

Step back and try to order all the organisms. It's never as easy as it looks; of course it isn't! Try and do, can't row in the same boat, instead of trying not to capsize, focus on staying afloat. It's gross and mean, so throw up or throw down. Mechanics got enough spoiled meat to fill a ghost cow. And Bev moseyed up to Beverly Hills, and now the residents are counting the days til it's a ghost town.

I give it everything I got. I give it everything I don't want.

I give it everything I previously cast aside, pencil push to catch a ride, passers by are catching vibes. Pedal push it up the hill to feel the sun and coast or slide all the way to no stress. Thumb meets the index. Feet meet the knees. Ends meet the means. I chain myself to light posts -- I don't defend trees. I know that I have not been known to know the whole scene, but I hope the high and mighty know they're sitting in the nosebleeds.

Type A personality, Type B ambitions. High end of the motor skills, low end social situations. I am not the one to give it to you, yo, you got to make it. Take it with a grain of salt, trust me I can fly for acres.