Real Hair

by Speedy Ortiz

supported by
EMMETT
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EMMETT just bhop your head Favorite track: American Horror.
Gavin Hellyer
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Gavin Hellyer All 4 tracks on this EP have got a big strong sound and one helluva rhythm section. Just beautiful. Favorite track: American Horror.
Nicholas Garcia
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Nicholas Garcia everything about 'real hair' careens across your speakers like a half-drunk poet, but the focus is laser-precise. deliciously abstract lyricism built on a foundation of genuinely grin-worthy melody. imagine pavement kicking up the pace and caring about something for a second.
i'll drop my pretentiousness here and say: i caught these guys at pygmalion festival and they were genuinely a highlight of the weekend. they're fantastic live musicians who happen to translate fantastically to recording. Favorite track: American Horror.
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about

Recorded and mixed by Paul Q. Kolderie at Sonelab, Easthampton, MA
Assistant engineered by Justin Pizzoferrato
Mastered by Joe Lambert
Artwork & songs by Sadie Dupuis, July Was Hot (c) 2014

Carpark Records CAK 93
Buy 12" here: www.insound.com/Real-Hair-Vinyl-LP-Speedy-Ortiz/P/INS127682/

credits

released February 11, 2014

Sadie Dupuis: guitar & vocals
Mike Falcone: drums & backing vocal
Darl Ferm: bass
Matt Robidoux: guitar & keyboard

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Speedy Ortiz Boston, Massachusetts

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Track Name: American Horror
Well, it’s not what you think, but it is that thought which brought you into this web full of bees. Found you in the glue and began their stinging. Who could’ve guessed you’d be out on a stretcher after your home stretch? All pocked and bruised, and they still you here at least ‘til the fit’s through. They trust you just to your own feet and keep you here for a whole week, ‘cause you’re acting strap-down crazy. They keep you here for a whole week. The state house is a trafficked spot you kick your dirty feet upon. Then that web with all those bees got your poor legs sticky. Oh, what a bad scene. Who could’ve guessed you’d be down for a spell, blood out on a new bed? Figured you’d know I would put the kid in me and wouldn’t let him go. Trust me just to my own feet and keep me up for a whole week. Baby I feel so crazy. You keep me up for a whole week. Straps down and belt off, please take the ties up. They trust you just to your own feet and keep you there for a whole week. If I don’t think that you’re crazy, do I not think?
Track Name: Oxygal
It’s only the old boys who call through the trees. Sucking the mist up, I guess it was real, and they’ve got guns. Now I don’t hear them, having shut the shades and secured locks on every door I can lock. Sure that if I second guess my work and stick my head out, it’ll blow off in one shot. And who wants to sleep by her who death becomes, someone who sleeps with her neck in reverse? It’s only me. You look at me. I turn around and wonder, am I dreaming? Nidgeting a startled pulse out of a little calf with your knee. I foresee us undercover faking darker habits. Better call it off before me, or be in this picture with me. Fell for a bone bag who sank in my stream. Now you better dry off so nobody sees. It’s only the old boys who reserve the rooms, and it’s only oxygal accepts the key. Solve for a way just to stifle the mim. Gets so complacent when he swallows my fingers. Did all I could just to keep you around, so while you stand around, be in this picture with me. Fell for a bombshell who tripped in my street. Now we better part ways so nobody sees. Sucking the mist up, I guess it was real. Good thing I taught you the backstroke you hate.
Track Name: Everything's Bigger
The lion’s just like me. He’s a twin, and I was a twin, although his twin grew up. So I must join the stage of awful singles ventilating. We head up to Vermont for a couple days. You say the name of a state when horror’s underway so you might escape back to a place where horror stays away. Still, you might escape. Me, I’m just like my wife. She’s a blade and I’m a dull knife turned up in a bouquet. And we get red for days, soaking through our silk and unbathed. We head up to Vermont. And I don’t know whose call it was that I should share a life with someone who resembles me and copies my speech down to every lisp and slur I practiced to put on. It’s hard to keep a dialect when you keep changing where you come from, and that’s a place where horrors fade away. Guess I could just get set up with someone’s got my given name.
Track Name: Shine Theory
Drop the word I’m meant to use to coax the pretty waiter from his restaurant, though he’s bad news and a cartoon of every trope the trophy world’s designed to want. They say I am a spoiled thing. I keep my scar out on my head and always come when I am told to go. I leave my neighbors scary notes, which I don’t sign while they’re at work, and I don’t listen when he tries to talk. I stare at his flapping jaw. I wanna want him so bad, but I don’t recognize the charms that he has, ‘cause my heart looks in on itself and he’d be better loved by somebody else who cares about a face. Like a robot who inflicts one shot then starts to wheel away despite his protocol. I got a hook in the conversation, which I played for meaty bait, though it was watered down. They say I am a spoiled mess. I never fold up what should fold and shine much better in my house alone. The charts predict a brother kid, but doctors say I need a sis that I can pawn off to my spiral shell and tie to my cord as well. I wanna want her so bad, but I don’t recognize the charms that she has, ‘cause my heart looks in on itself and any friend I make’s a stagehand at best to help along the play. Fights first and facts last. These lads have the asses for TV. But who’s taking my picture? They better be taking it only of me. I wanna want him so bad, but I don’t recognize the charms that he has. I hear he's pretty and well, but I don’t get aroused. I wanna want that so bad, but I don’t recognize the charms that I have, ‘cause my heart looks in on itself. That’s why the beacon’s burnt.