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Stray Volts

by J. Marinelli

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    11 songs on vinyl

    Includes unlimited streaming of Stray Volts via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day

      $20 USD or more 


  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $10 USD  or more


Dear child of doubt Don't freeze me out I'm not trying to impress My glow's a happy accident But can I try your glasses on My gaze a staid and stolid locus Spent, a pent-up panorama A sordid slideshow out of focus now You learn fuck-all Through speaking small We find nothing when we seek it The longing's there so why not pique it But can I try your glasses on My gaze a staid and stolid locus Spent, a pent-up panorama A sordid slideshow out of focus now When you play the princeling It's hardly convincing So get a grip and rip it up And terrify and toughen up this town
Unvitation 02:29
In an endless rendition You net nothing but carrion How in the hell can you send me an Unvitation I won't sing smarter than you hear Earmarked, un-murky, my message clear Every vowel and consonant Is pointed upward to make you want So how in the hell can you send me an Unvitation Secret stars and rent-boy bars Have snubbed me on their way While I've been told I'm on a golden road My doubt is holding sway Ageless and teenage It seems there's left to do But sweat and scowl for you In an endless rendition You net nothing but carrion How in the hell can you send me an Unvitation
You’re digging trenches while I’m scaling narrow walls You’re talking swastikas with tattooed boys and all But when your luck runs out you’ll walk a fragile floor And grit your teeth about how far you had to fall Look at the way you did me in Look at the idiot you’ve been Check how I’ll lose you when I win Go back to Madison I’m counting bruises where no bruise should ever be While you spread doubt about the spawn of you and me But when the dope runs out you’ll spend the week indoors And resurrect the ghost of what we had before
A conscience is a parental pathfinder It scratches – could we all have been kinder Bent in a flash of perfection, imperfection We can see all but our vanity, our insanity The dead don’t need us Are we guilty survivors? Discursive – are we road-hungry lifers? Slaves to an energy internal, eternal Currents unfocused like a cinder in a howling berm
Humble-brag man He’s a thick country ham Gonna hit you up, stitch you up Any way that he can Humble-brag man Another dodgy old scam Tricky Dick Shift you quick Icebox to the fry-pan From the oven to the fridge Here comes the bridge Wet handshake-quake Betrays a right sketch-bag His false modesty is such a drag Humble-brag
Define your borders Defy convention Honor your mistake As hidden intention No matter where the universe might put me I will have known you Foreseen French Exit Vacant expression Won’t hold a light to Written impression No matter where the universe may not put me I won’t want to know you
Ersatz leader of men A third arm sprouts to pat his back Our manic cocaine activist Martyress to cook and clean A third arm gropes to stroke him off Hardwired to sharper gills A hurtful waste, all bottom-fed Our toxic cocaine activist Lackeys to charm and crawl A third arm strains to rub him out Monopolize the conversation At every meeting In it for the ingratiation Your time he’s stealing And it’s got him reeling Stagger-drunk on your applause Urgent, insurgent paper tiger Filmy and soft in tooth and claw Neither a lover nor a fighter With rhetoric so desperate Intentions that may motivate Are less than pure They’ll always leave you sore They’ll always leave you sore
The lost year’s blight will never fade from sight Only the bitters can we sweeten As we charm ourselves through the shivering dawn With every new dose of misfortune Lasso me lazy like the moon I’ll hang you up in my orbit Bite the bit we’re bound for nowhere Soon to hide, din of the Delta ride Held-over pulse like a crestfallen Countenance, establish your distance Now that you’ve blown out every engine And six months I’ll not be found Face hidden in broad daylight Miles away form the lost year’s stomping ground
The driest daytime drama lives In silly personality seams Introducing each date The singles are going straight (to hell) Unhealthy innuendo throughout The common come-on is strange Where the whimsical sect Entitles Lexington miles I can see for miles and miles Below the drop You’ll wind up in Another town And burn the heart of everyone Who dares to stick around Australopatheticus breaks weak Scorches torch-song in touches Fluttery old hearts hold fast To the weakling’s lost weekend
Wrested control of myself last night Dug in deep with an X-Acto knife Burnt so bad but it felt all good Just the way a sovereign self should Put my neck into the loop last night Pulled the rope ‘round a red throat tight Cut the gas and read me my last rites Creaked and swayed in the window light
Stray Volts 02:14
Last week I took a walk among some industry hell A silent stray volt winter at the fracking well A Babylon of bad decisions-oh Advance a yes-man plot with no big no But when the credits roll the weaknesses will show Last night I had a comrade help me with the math Of smoking out a certain strain of sociopath Lurking behind me like a blonde shadow No matter how much shade I throw Stray volts will darken every contrived pose And I’ll sleep sound tonight So thankful that I’ve sussed Each individual in which to put my trust You’ll see no time for fuckery No more stray volts for me


released June 17, 2017

All songs written by J Marinelli © and (P) 2017 Pertnere Music
Recorded via four-track cassette in Lexington, Kentucky January 2016
Mastered by David Klug in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania February 2016
Cover art by Dan Davis/Kin Ship Goods


all rights reserved



J. Marinelli Morgantown, West Virginia

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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