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SuperTyfon

by RBMK

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1.
The little saucers around my head Are glowing in shades of the blue Their blank expressions cannot be read Their viewpoints can never be new Elation has no parallel When you're rendered blind by the true Your superstition's a kind of hell When you don't share a point of view I'm on the phone whenever I see lights up in the sky I've shown them everything, but No-one believes me No-one believes me No-one believes They cut it open, they seal it closed When the truth seems to come very near The visions can't always be imposed When the sights become open and clear It's awful easy to end up hosed If you expose their hidden veneer The photographs have been staged and posed The joke marches on every year I'm on the phone whenever I see lights up in the sky I've shown them everything, but No-one believes me No-one believes me No-one believes [Solo - Chris] I'm on the phone whenever I see lights up in the sky I've shown them everything, but No-one believes me No-one believes me No-one believes Indebted as I am To little grey men from the sky It seems I've lost my place The truth is so hard to deny The little saucers around my head Are quickly becoming quite red
2.
Your only ups are cloaked in downs Your highs are hidden lows Judgmental to those around you Stop while you're still ahead Before the ambition is dead There is no justice here I've been perched upon this ledge Loading words with ammunition Firing magazines of phrases We live in fear of others' thoughts Confrontation is so scary When the words exit the barrel Conversation is a bore No-one hears you anymore Talk is cheap, the words are dead Canned emotions, sealed in lead Send the message, no concern There is something you must learn We took the bait, we fell in line The day is on our heels You've crowned yourself with prejudice Corroded souls and hearts In the dark the words are broken Fraught with fear, we're all caged I've been perched upon this ledge Loading words with ammunition Firing magazines of phrases We live in fear of others' thoughts Confrontation is so scary When the words exit the barrel Conversation is a bore No-one hears you anymore Talk is cheap, the words are dead Canned emotions, sealed in lead Send the message, no concern There is something you must learn Talk is cheap, the words are dead Talk is cheap, the words are dead
3.
Your open-door policies were always Kind of a farce Lifted up on wings of broken dreams and hearts You're destined to crash and burn I know you think you're quite high above me But all in all you're just as expendable So replaceable Replaceable Change the rules so they can suit your mood swings It's good to be in power It gets you high, it takes you down Your former friends are after you I know you think you're quite high above me But all in all you're just as expendable So replaceable Replaceable I worded my resignation the way you deserved to hear it When I put my fist through that glass pane The payback for years of lies and sinful manipulation I broke your cheap toy, I made you hurt I've moved on to greener pastures and you still smell like a fry vat When you come home to count your losses And maybe someday you'll learn that you're no different than anyone That day is coming, your fate is sealed As important as you think you are In the end, you're still working a McJob
4.
Watch the traffic moving constantly As I wait to cross the street Never getting ready to go anywhere Just get out and start walking Out on the road Can't think of a place to go But don't call it lost It's just what I'll need to know On through countless tiny neighbourhoods And straight through the big city Out past the sprawling farmlands Out in the country Out on the road Can't think of a place to go But don't call it lost It's just what I'll need to know [Solo - Chris] Stop in a local shop to rest Or maybe sit out in the park Bother nothing, let nothing bother you Arriving home as the sky goes dark Out on the road Can't think of a place to go But don't call it lost It's just what I'll need to know [Solo - Erick]
5.
United 232 03:48
The captain has some dreadful news The pilots haven't got control It seems an engine did explode The hydraulic lines have been cut We've got a snowball's chance in hell The engines are our only hope Asymmetrical thrust to turn The pilots refuse to give up This jet might land safe after all We've got a snowball's chance in hell We're coming in hot and high Best we can do without hydraulics A wing and a prayer won't cut it today As we barrel down the glideslope Let's hope we hit the runway Without crashing into that corn field Hours of boredom punctuated By moments of sheer terror We seem to be on target now We're getting low, the end is near The pilots have us lined up straight The gust was just a twist of fate
6.
Logan (stupid dog!)
7.
Unstable remnants of my faith Have fallen to the ground Cynical fragments with no shape Of days we never found Broken wings ascended highest They never made a sound Stigmatized, we fell on our face We never turned around Words always fail me My thoughts confound me Mental walls surround me I always jail me The sky is falling, no words, no remorse The days are getting longer and I don't know what to do Shot the breeze, ran out of bullets The bait is always new In the sky, people are falling That much is always true Shadows and highlights are forming The points are now in view Words always fail me My thoughts confound me Mental walls surround me I always jail me The sky is falling, no words, no remorse Sleeplessness, shattered and beaten Poisonous frames of mind Details lost in our quest for hope The things we never find Shortsighted, they stumble around Their dreams have all gone blind Produced in feelings of anguish, The treaties never bind Words always fail me My thoughts confound me Mental walls surround me I always jail me The sky is falling, no words, no remorse Unstable remnants of my faith Have fallen to the ground Cynical fragments with no shape Of days we never found Broken wings ascended highest They never made a sound Stigmatized, we fell on our face We never turned around
8.
L.O.C.A./ 02:59
The heat we generate when we collide Necessitates a great deal of caution Radiation is always a problem We try to keep it caged in a steel tomb Sometimes Murphy's law gets the best of us And our temperature just keeps on rising The heat is high enough to melt the core (Never had a fever quite like this one) The molten slag spills on the concrete floor (Never had a fever quite like this one) Containment only works when steel walls hold (Never had a fever quite like this one) Years will pass before the reactor's cold (Never had a fever quite like this one) Alarm bells ring as disaster unfolds They need to cool it down before it blows Engineers try to keep the fever down They give it water to calm the rancor The heat in the core is just way too high Call it a Loss Of Coolant Accident They'll talk about this one for many years (Never had a fever quite like this one) A tale of reactors and engineers (Never had a fever quite like this one) The fever's latest victim rests in peace (Never had a fever quite like this one) Its contents too dangerous to release (Never had a fever quite like this one) No coolant.
9.
Meltdown! [Solo - Chris] [Solo - Erick] [Solo - Chris] [Solo - Erick] [Solo - Chris] [Solo - Erick] [Solo - Chris] [Solo - Erick]

about

The result of two brothers, two weeks of spare time, and a desire to fill the time with as much recording as possible, the songs on SuperTyfon were written to a certain rhythm: in the afternoon, we would pick up our guitars and start working on whatever we could come up with. By the end of the evening, the songs would be fleshed out, the drum tracks would be made, and the trusty DAW would be configured. In the morning, the songs would be recorded, and in the afternoon, the process would repeat.

(Almost) All songs were recorded using a limited pool of equipment: two Gibson SGs, one Peavey Classic 30, two Marshall MS2s (usually paired as one unit), two ProCo Rat pedals, and a few minor effects here and there. The idea was that this would be an album we could perform (almost) exactly as recorded, any place, any time, because every song has a single guitar track for each of us, and neither of us would use the exact same equipment as the other on any song.

In short, this is what it sounds like when siblings with guitars get bored.

credits

released May 25, 2011

Erick Cantu: Guitars Vocals Bass
Christopher Orion Severson: Guitars Vocals Bass
Goldwave: Drums

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RBMK St Cloud, Minnesota

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