ædʌɫɂ mɔlɪŋ

by Adult Mauling

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about

The debut LP from Adult Mauling. Sounds best loud.

ædʌłɂ mɔlɪŋ, like all records, plural. releases, is available as a free download. We welcome you to contribute more as a gift towards the future work of Adult Mauling and records, plural. using bandcamp's "pay what you want" option. We are additionally selling a limited run of cassettes for cost. You are also free to send gifts to records, plural. via paypal to recordsplural@gmail.com, or to Adult Mauling at gabe.mathews@gmail.com.

credits

released February 27, 2016

ædʌłɂ mɔlɪŋ was recorded mostly in may and some in september, october, and november of twenty-fifteen at the rattle room in northgate, seattle, wa by james moffitt. produced by james moffitt. co-produced by gabriel mathews. music by adult mauling. lyrics by gabriel mathews, with references to songs by life without buildings (II), arctic monkeys (VI), future of the left (VII), and ugly casanova (X). vocals and baritone guitar by gabriel mathews. drums and backing vocals by ezra finney. mixed and mastered by james moffitt. design by gabriel mathews. thank you to james, megan, david, talia, marika, burgundian, pho viet anh, an nam pho, atlantic crossing, teddy’s, and our condo-dwelling neighbor who told us “there are better things to listen to.” records, plural. some rights reserved. MMXVI. adultmauling.bandcamp.com | recordsplural.bandcamp.com

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Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.

about

Adult Mauling Seattle, Washington

AD-uhlt MAW-ling

"There are better things to listen to."- condo-dwelling neighbor

"You guys sound good! I like your heavy metal!"- proprietor of phở joint next door

Photo: Ruby Paiva
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Track Name: Anymore
and I don’t rage anymore and I don’t choke anymore so I don’t sing anymore so I don’t sing anymore and I don’t chafe anymore and I don’t champ anymore so I don’t write anymore so I don’t write anymore and I don’t seek anymore and I don’t find anymore so I don’t speak anymore so I don’t speak anymore and I don’t fight anymore and I don’t fall anymore so I don’t know anymore so I don’t know anymore a voice another’s voice I need another’s voice to sing these songs I don’t much want mine anymore
Track Name: Lard, Wax, And Down
soapstone, lard, and vellum—good things for a list I wrote you two thousand letters felt lame for not hearing back backbone, wax, and leather freed words from my fists I felt each one like I was blind nothing good enough for you sweet thing gently, gently stay still and don’t stray sweet thing heartwood, down, and sulfur spoke like a black shrew in lopped off tones I sang for you then my throat went numb sweet thing gently, gently burn up and float away sweet thing for you sweet thing
Track Name: Government Work
he sleeps straight sitting up well I sleep standing and that’s good enough for government work we’ll save you a place if you remember the words if you learn to bend your fingers backwards and count down from three hundred by fours she walks up on her hands well I walk on my knees yeah, it got me into magazines but I threw them away cause they meant nothing to me now I only deal in forgeries, black autographs, and high-priced snacks they sing with their mouths closed well I just let mine hand right open not that it ever does me any good not that I can ever fit my teeth around the word I’m an ill-shod lame racehorse you can trot me out at market time what’s the word?
Track Name: Fabrics
let my eyes go soft at the edges keep it flat and constant keep it weak and muffled let my eyes blur one and two then three and four keep it slow and level a single then a double let my eyes go soft feel it warm and blotted like a measured set of fabrics I could lay around myself let my eyes soften again leave it burning up on the mantle keep it constant and level make it smooth and muffled let my eyes remain unclear
Track Name: Patient Dog
do you not feel the weight of my worth? do you not feel the weight of my worth? all I can feel’s the weight of the work solid and thudding and open to nothing if I built an island of coins the mess would be sugar-high shocking it would break the room at the seams then sit like a patient dog I can wait for another year I can’t wait for another year I won’t leave you stranded here though your face has yet to come clear if I decide to open my eyes it will be because there’s nothing behind them and I won’t hope for the best ever again just lie down and give up I want you to call I want you to raise my ire I want you to call I want you to boil this old blood
Track Name: Grips
all rise, all rise it’s time to be set right there are songs that need singing else they die on the page so rise with the hammers tonight I’ll rise, I will rise and likely fall down again though innocent once I can’t hold it all in so I’ll rise and then fall tonight if you’re done sifting through pictures of how it could be in the end we could make this a show worth watching we could lose our grips on the glass you probably couldn’t see for the dark but you were looking right through me but if you want a mirror out of me then I’ll rise to the occasion tonight
Track Name: Vomit Is Vomit
faulty heathen, fickle human I degenerate each night as the rain like piss comes down broken teeth don’t slow the swelling crooked nose don’t help the wasting hacking phlegm isn’t much like talking vomit makes for a shitty kiss bloody labor, untrue favors I turn liquid each night as the rain like piss comes down it doesn’t look like a man it doesn’t taste like a man it’s so far from a man that it shrinks at the thought of mothers and rubbers and sheets it looks less like a man every week broken teeth don’t hide the aching crooked nose don’t break the fasting hacking phlegm isn’t much like breathing vomit is vomit is spit and the rain like piss comes down
Track Name: My Pencil Case
my pencil case is cold and hard watch me as I drop it it will clatter to the floor it will forget everyone I don’t know how soft you are break open for me I won’t say anything I can’t say a damn thing the phone never rings when you’re around the phone never rings when I’m down the phone never rings in this town the phone never rings when I’m down my pencil case is made of metal but I can’t say what kind hard enough for basic functions it will forget everyone
Track Name: Errand Boy
and I could have been your errand boy they’d have found me in the lake bricks tied to my ankles weeds growing out of me and I could have been your wake up call I’d have had my teeth bashed in gauze soaking in my mouth yellow round both eyes and I could have been your mile marker you’d have left me by the road down in a rude dug ditch with both my hands cut off and I could have been your drawing board I’d have took a penknife to the rips you’d have toyed with the handle as I bit right through my tongue and you could have been my timekeeper and you could have been my diving bell and you could have been my proofreader and you could have been my everything and you could have been my everything
Track Name: At Best
things I can expect—a wagered life at best quick-bit nails and stress all these unwritten checks years spent celibate a calm slow death things to remember—friends of friends of friends decent explanations minor hard-won favors dressed-up alligators their incisors bicuspids both rot things I ought to know—the codes to my own locks why so little hurts like a lot the names of all these mountains the maps you use to climb them your name number and location things I should forget—