NNT#040 The Bug - What's Buggin' You? Tape

by Not Normal Tapes

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  • The Bug - What's Buggin' You? CS
    Cassette + Digital Album

    After over a year of throbbin’ and writhin’ underground, these freaks have finally unleashed the first wave of an ongoing infestation. The Bug takes cues from Die Krueten, Mecht Mensch, and Wrangler Butes to make music as bratty and annoying as the members themselves. This little piece of rectanguloid plastic trash contains six tracks of contentious, screeching noise played at 78rpm, of palpable cynicsm and contempt for the human turd, of rejection of punk as a marketing gimmick. The real fucking deal. Comes with three color, 8.5 x 14" xerox insert, with lyrics and "explanations".

    Includes unlimited streaming of NNT#040 The Bug - What's Buggin' You? Tape via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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credits

released February 20, 2015

Recorded by Amos Pitsch. Mastered by Will Killingsworth.

tags

license

all rights reserved
Track Name: Buzz
Mother calls I feel the itching
The reflexive twitch from pitches shifting
Feel the pulse through writhing city streets
We buzz as interests wax and wane
Seven billion hummed to sleep

Feeling anxious?
Feel that ancient, anxious itch?
Feel that dark void dissipate
With just one word from mother's lips
Two ever present digits move in tandem with my own
Seven billion radiate toward your incandescent glow

Buzz
I buzz
I buzz
I bzzzzzzzzz

(Free will, self-knowledge, creativity, absurdity, indeed all variety and color and flavor have been phased out, an autonomous, self-perpetuating mass of dull grey husks left in their stead.)
Track Name: What's Buggin' You?
Long face hints at imminent gripe
Silently suffering, sensitive type
Engaging conversationalist
Skeptic/sensationalist

The twist? This twit throws fits for reactions
Pull from a hole, stretched from a fraction
The ends and the means: pure self-satisfaction

Long face, how do you do?
Tell the truth, what's buggin' you?
Long face, tell the truth
What's bug-, what's bug-, what's buggin' you?

Can you pout while you stomp?
Can you stomp while you spit?
Do you soil yourself and blame someone else for the shit?
Senseless crap from a toothless gap
An endless yap yap yap yap yap yap

(The loudest mouth in the room always has the least to say.)
Track Name: Go Back To Bed
Light creeps in
Piercing screech at 5 AM
Nasal whine out the receiving end
Trails you right back to bed

B.A.G.H.D.D.T.
Memetics mold reality
Is that you leaking from your head?
Just go back to bed

Night creeps in
A noted and observed disturbance
Reach tacit resignation with
Mistrusting your own reflection

B.A.G.H.D.D.T
Memetics mold reality
Is that you leaking from your head?
Fuck off back to bed

Who can't help but change the subject?
Who flunked a generation?
Who abandoned those they'd orphaned
And left 'em to who'd take 'em?

E
T
C

(It's no coincidence they close schools in the same neighborhoods with cameras on every corner. It's no coincidence they criminalize the survival of people of color. It's no surprise they make us hate ourselves.)
Track Name: No Shit
(i)
Static, dad's trailing off again
Static, indelibly etched
Static, criss-cross, criss-cross
It's only 9 PM and we're all ten-, ten-, tense
Or maybe just a little red from being red?
You're blue, he's green, she's red
Angry? Embarrassed?
Agitated and pacing from certain discomforting revelations?
Feign interest for ninety seconds
Or indulge in the nine million possibilities imprinted in your ass?

No shit?

(ii)
Heroes spun out puds who fucking flub it
Scrubbed 'til you can't catch three decades of forced adjustment
Wal-mart greeters putter closer, keep tabs on favorite brands of bread
While the fawning nation ignores another American father and son laid dead

Shock!
Awe!
No shit, no shit
No shit, no shit, no shit

Who can't help but change the subject?
Who tanked a generation?
Who abandoned those they'd orphaned to the first family'd fucking take 'em?
Whose mouth made a promise to watch another take it back
And mutters a steady stream of slurs as the screen click-clacks to black?

Shock!
Awe!
No shit, no shit
No shit, no shit, no shit

(i)(Nobody wants to be the fucker who ruined it for everybody else)
(ii)(How many times does 3,000 go into 350,000? 5 into 2,100? How many times can you stick your nose in someone else's business before you come up with shit on it?)
Track Name: Sunday Sermon Blues
Came to the wrong place seeking forgiveness

Two fingers spread the ashes
Father folds his hands under when done
But my mother never wavered from grudges
And I am my mother's son
Supplicant's beseechin'
Touch lips to where the smack met the hand
But I ain't no preacher teachin'
I ain't no better man

Such profound distinctions
Born from such subtleties

Rote litanies of youth
Barely escape your lips
Tied in tongues on the seventh
Penance paid for the first through the sixth
Supplicant's beseechin'
Touch lips to where the smack met the hand
But I ain't no preacher teachin'
I ain't no better man

Such subtle privations
Can bring a man to his knees

Let down, karma bummed
Son of a son of a gun

(No one's here to hold your hand. Take your hackneyed, reactionary bullshit back to daddy's on Sunday)