Pre​-​Emptive Skankery Sessions

by J. Marinelli

/
1.
To many nights of the sound of one hand clapping just for you embrace each new wave and count the days until the big corporate rescue here's where we'd part company if any company'd once been made unmaligned but so defined from your shoes up to your shades ten thousand gears of industry but no spanners caught between had it not occurred to you in garage spaces art basements or any friendly station where rebels pause without applause for a breath of jagged air between the verse and middle-eight where nothing might go wrong you saw me at twenty and you'll find me ten years on examine what your scene could mean could we build our own regime had it not occurred to you?
2.
Hey Pinkerton you're not at home you can't pull his plug or turn him down 'cause these limbs bite back he ain't the television I thought you'd have he vision to see that but we've seen your work big guy and it's less than meets the eye no he ain't the reason why no-one's been buying maybe all your patrons see that you're as fake as Fox TV you ain't outside of any norm, construct, or system hey Pinkerton turn off your glower-power and come back in a quarter-hour when he's done 'cause his Hokey Pokey oh it's a fuck-you song and all the dancing boys and dancing girls who are standing by while you're giving him the stink-eye will tell you he's won.
3.
When I was just knee-high I could tell I'd need more than a slice a jolt to keep me well now you could say hey J you've got it all no big red bull kicking in it's stall it feels just like I'm wearing a royal crown this mug can't help but bubble up and down she joneses for my moxie and she's all mine she's my cheerwine from seven on up I'd hand my tumbler full warm crush over ice for me had no real pull old Vernor said a sprite would delight but my stomach hurt a late one was good clean fun but my heart still burnt.
4.
Comrade K 02:13
Let's raise the dead for an evening comrade exhume us a new world of good our old friends have all been frightened into doing what they think they should those left by good grace have made an art of escape escape artist Houdini fake oh their best inside jokes are just mirrors and smoke no stance in their dance no romance no no chance to take ain't a clown in this town that is hopeful comrade the kids are their own marketplace give me anyone who can make their own fun by groping toward a brighter place I watch from the bar-dust of old Pleasant Street the weekenders out all dressed up costumed as anyone but themselves are they scared of what's there is what there just not enough let's raise a seance for the youth-ghost comrade a handshake from beyond the grave with no ass to kiss I've a short thank-you list imagine all the time I can save have we grown uptight on our scene's cellulite no patience no time for heroes even gas money kindness even duct tape and fliers even rightness can be says we a selling point too even rightness says we can be hipster-cred too even rightness says we can be a commodity too.
5.
The dry daytime drama king Dramamine mean dreaming Drinks up a storm in the day Late light leading slight Feeds a hungry freedom-streak Sartre/Exene nausea Dub-Vee trait sleeps Unwieldy in a trailer camp Wheeling steel beam personae Panhandle boy digs from digital to analog His monologue a True Sound Of Liberty Ain't you glad ain't you glad That the blood done sign my name Ain't you glad ain't you glad That the blood done sign my name Ain't you glad ain't you glad That the blood done sign my name That the blood done sign my name
6.
Weak Enuff 01:28
And it was sharp enough to notice Thought we were wise enough to work it out This ain't no psychology This is everywhere This is my mythology First I was weak enough to wither Then I grew strong enough to run right out This ain't no psychology This is everywhere This is my mythology And all I've known...
7.
Last year's party Last year's party We've found a hotter party to go to Oh look out across Sixth Street and Lime The jeeps and tanks are rolling after you Better swap that Sony Cyber Shot For an alley biscuit, a throwing stone or two Last year's party Last year's party Won't you tell me who's ironic now Oh mindless child of Late Capitalism Son of Postmodernity Better dry your hand of Coors Light condensation Grab a Molotov or three (And get one for me) Last year's party Last year's party Won't you tell me who's ironic now
8.
It's been a vacant year Ain't shit to do but drink a draught Of this Caintucky Mason Jar In this stood-up club with a luckless laugh-track Built right in We don't have to think too hard Every joke we hear's familiar Hot off the ha-ha line Only so much they can justify with irony Fast out of fashion Don't this dead time weigh a ton Takes no mind Ain't no kind Of fun Twisting around the dial Head's a-blissed with this tinnitus Humming a static line Ain't no match for my spastic tonearm Gimme Death Sweats and not Decemberists Gimme Death Sweats and not Decemberists Gimme Death Sweats and not Decemberists Gimme Bad Brains and keep your Bright Eyes Fast out of fashion Don't this dead time weigh a ton Takes no mind Ain't no kind Of fun.
9.
10.
Who would have known that the power of 'no' would not be about negation? Shun what you've been shown, no mayor could own up to our city's condition. Keep Morgantown weird while I'm not here, my friend. I don't doubt I'll see it again. Who would have guessed, that the power of 'yes' could be our most valuable export? A new port of call -- I'll give it my all. No tears in the Cheat Lake tradewinds. Keep Morgantown yours -- my tour of duty's done. It's never been down to one. We'll hang all the players and burn the stage, tear up the script and rewrite the page; these agents of change will never age. We'll bomb the Hit Factory and Brill Building, disband the bandstand as we sing; we don't owe their Industry a thing. And they'll see what we can bring. Who would have sussed that the power of us would be so self-generating? No businessman's brand, nor his manicured hand, could dampen our proud parade. Yeah, keep Morgantown ours -- may no bars hold you in. This wheel will long be in spin.
11.
The hands on the clock inside the smudged and glassed up window tick it's time she went to bed yes the one she made herself with help from her chaperones shitfaced and faceless But we don't mind our pity party doll will give us all a fresh anecdote to tell tomorrow When is a friend not a friend at all? The dirt upon which you fall tells its own story Tomorrow holds shame so don't lay claim to feelings unfit, unfelt in your late mornings But we don't mind our pity party doll will give us all a fresh anecdote to tell tomorrow She wore a different face to every occasion down at the negative end of every equation Oh such a sad situation let's raise a glass to frustration But we don't mind our pity party doll will give us all a fresh anecdote to tell tomorrow
12.
Rescue the scene? On second thought, au revoir This poison's free Poor child your ethics are Like a drug A fashionable opiate Pull the plug Do not resuscitate No CPR You've fucked the cause Now go on and fix the fight Expect applause Rep like a dented bike Like a drug It makes you feel greater than Pull the plug I've seen more than I can stand There's no more love Catch you later I'm not waiting No party to, no party to Culture of lowered expectations A lesson learned, a venue burned A crowd so tired: "Alright... let's get bored..."
13.
Pomade Years 02:09
Your hype is larger than life delusional tripe forcefed by the forces That bring your weakness to light so afraid that you might meet the you that we once knew Before the collapse was pure and total somewhere between the first chord and the last call and I'll sit back and watch you choke on your smoke an unfunny joke -- flat broke since the pomade years No doubt, it's getting played out so steeped in your clout you forget who your friends are and you rest on the laurels that you don't have and dismiss all the bliss that we once shared You take the path of least resistance and wonder why I keep my distance when your whole life's a mess of mirrors and smoke you're such a fucking joke -- flat broke since the pomade years Teeth grow long Yours is a dodgy song Don't step behind And pay no mind To what the world expects from you this time
14.
Marc un-murky, lurks on the ether Neither St. Peter nor G. Marconi Shone black badges, bright on white waistcoat From West Virginia to East Anglia Far from unmanned Our Man, he rides again, Our Fan derides again Five hour wingspan our man decides again, decries again: a big 'no!' Feelers splayed, no aid from traps or trappings Old English minor chords Mancunian Beaten drums he's bent ass-sideways Metal-sways sweat-drenched, lonesome, and lupine (repeat chorus) It's in Marc's blood to play it real Knows he'll not lose that itching heel He prays his friends keep their scene weird Yeah, somewhere North and east of… …try again… let fly again We'll roam where we want That dog, she don't hunt But she won't play dead (repeat twice)

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The second J Marinelli LP - and the first J Marinelli LP to be released on full-length vinyl. Currently out of print.

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released October 11, 2010

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J. Marinelli Trondheim, Norway

J. Marinelli is a one man band like no other. The sound and fury that emotes from his haunting Appalachian echoed yowl falls somewhere between Guided By Voices, a lost mountain troubadour and a classic 70’s punk outfit from your dreams.
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