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Shallow

by whatever...

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    Note that you can buy all the tracks individually for a mere 50¢ apiece. However, if you're willing to pay just one American dollar more, you get all this: ♦ Bonus tune "Open Season," a rare track from the Jabberwocky sessions, previously released only on one CD compilation. ♦ Hi-res cover art, liner notes, and cassette photos, all scanned from our personal collection. Make your own cassette! ♦ Scans of whatever... stickers, a rare zine interview, and flyers promoting the album release show for Jabberwocky, all also scanned from our personal collection. ♦ And, of course, all 9 tracks available for individual download. What a perplexingly valuable deal! Act now, operators are standing by!*
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1.
Your instruction is selective. It makes me wonder what it's for if it just adds mortal fuel to this building moral war. We hear echoes of faith in shouts of anger and contempt, noises of derision from the heaven-sent. Tradition, indecision, blasphemy to ask for proof. Use god-given minds to blind yourselves, twist words for your own use. But the religion that you preach inside your holy halls of truth is just oppression when it's forced upon our youth. It's such a simple thing, just to believe without a thought, spitting back the tired words along with faith that you've been taught. And this prejudice is natural, it all comes out the same. All the infidels and heathens are distrusted in his name. Divide the population between the righteous and the damned until the holy war is over and not a single sinner stands. If you hold the keys to heaven, I'm sure I'll find myself in hell because I will not pay blood money for salvation that you sell. Do you think that, if your god were here today, he would approve of laying claim to some exclusive paradise? I'm not seeking absolution or forgiveness for some crime. I'm not buying into your exclusive paradise. Not this time. Compassion for unfortunate, compassion for the poor, while the gold inside your churches could feed all these mouths, and more. Donations are accepted, call the number on your screen. This compassion isn't all that it would seem to be. Professions of allegiance to an institution lie, forcing words into my mouth to build a violent storm inside. Cast the first stone to condemn me for a different point of view, but it seems to me the Son of Man was a nonconformist, too.
2.
Spade 02:54
Another four years gone, another torch to carry on Another hidden crime, another once-in-a-lifetime Another change of state, another face we'll learn to hate Another caring soul, another bridge to cross, another toll. Another broken truce, another object of abuse Another industry, another politician Another billion spent, who knows where the money went? Another TV smile, and all the while, the people's eyes go blind. We called a spade a spade, another foolish claim we made We forgot about the line between what is and what we're told We'd like our leaders just, but men of steel will always rust Corroded by the currency that fools mistake for gold. Another four years gone, another torch to carry on And in another four it'll all look just the same.
3.
Shallow 04:01
A written word, a spoken line A voice inside that swears, "Just one last time." A word of warning here, don't try to fight your pain For fear and hurt and suffering will set your soul in frame A wasted day is still a day, one more to set behind you Strings of wasted days, in time, will set your soul in frame. It's no more a game, but a way of life I can hurt you so you do what I like There is truth in lie, there is love in hate There are politics in pain; don't fight it. Hold fast to power slipping through your trembling hands Keep a hold of your control to set your soul in frame. A shallow image trapped behind this wall of glass Uncomfortable reflections now will set your soul in frame.
4.
Simon 02:33
Hello, my name in Simon, and the things I draw come true It seems my own creations are reality to you But even if I told you it's a lie, I think you'd still believe Because truth is something no one seems to need. Hello, my name in Simon; yes, I know you know me well I live inside your TV box and stare out at your cell. telling you that everything's okay, so you can waste away your days On the other, more important games you play... See, truth is just a detail in our very complex lives Where we keep track of our money as we keep track of our wives And honesty and virtue are commodities to sell Sex is up another point, but love has gone to hell. Hello, my name is Simon and the things I draw come true My network's now at number one, it's all because of you You people who don't question what you see Have made a millionaire of me And now my lies are true because you all believe
5.
Pavement 03:18
A fifteen-year-old boy stares down at pavement twenty floors below He's tired of being alone, he wants to be accepted. A paper pinned to his chest flutters in a sudden wind, It says, "I'm tired of being alone. Just leave me be. Just let me go." I can't explain his reasoning, but then, nobody could It seems to me that different eyes see very different worlds Like when you're lying on the bottom, there's only one way to go But at the top, you can stand or you can fall. I know your friends are cruel; a jury of your peers rules you uncool On clothes, or hair, or shoes, or superficial accessories. But if you just give up, you've lost, they've won, the fight is over And you've just thrown it all away. Don't throw it all away. A thirty-year-old man stares down at that same pavement far below His home and family gone, addictions taking their toll And unemployment is undignified for one of his kind His pride distorts his mind. A welfare line? He'd rather die! I can't explain his reasoning; again, nobody could I think that sometimes darkened eyes block out a brighter world But when you're lying at the bottom Thinking there's just one way to go Sometimes the ground drops out beneath you and you fall. Yes, the real world is cruel; in bureaucratic eyes, you're just a tool Machines to be abused and carelessly discarded in the end But if you just give up, you've lost, they've won, the fight is over And you've just thrown it all away. Don't throw it all away. A fifteen-year-old boy stares down at pavement twenty floors below He tears his message up And lets it go.
6.
It amazes me how easily you conform yourself Just to be another face that sinks inside the crowd Follow, never questioning, and willing to give anything And doing only what your clique allows Cliche parties, parents gone Be cool, get drunk, puke on the lawn In the name of rebellion, be like me Speak only when spoken to And let your friends think for you You piss on individuality Why can't you see? Why can't you be? I can't stand you and you hate me I can't understand it It amazes me how easily you conform yourself Just to be another face that sinks inside the crowd I mull it over in my mind But still no answers I can find I pity all the lost ones who are blind.
7.
Corp. Killer 02:23
So a black man writes a song about a civil servant's death And a thousand corporate cronies gasp for every final breath As profits plunge into the red and Tipper squeals in glee The Ministry of Truth decides this album should not be. Well, I don't much like the song myself, but I still think it's great That it's causing such a ruckus in the temples of the state Who, apparently, are fountainheads of creativity Who just pretends this music comes from punks like you and me. So hail the corporations, the lords of art and style, The holy corporations, let the corporations die. Now it comes back to the question of who says what's right and wrong If the corporate whores at Warner are offended by this song Is it right to make the artist stifle what he feels inside? I'd understand it, maybe, if a cop or two had died. But the ones who were accosted by the threats of bombs and death Were executives and businessmen, who had no part in this And the ones who should feel threatened by the song The didn't need to hide I guess they realized where the real power lies. It's in the corporations, the lords of art and style The holy corporations Let the corporations die.
8.
Soapbox 03:00
I sit and ponder, no ideas come to mind No righteous new crusade to sell in three minutes' time I'm sure there's something wrong here That should make me want to kill But for the life of me, I don't know what that is. It's no surprise, I should have realized I'll get down off my soapbox, because awareness doesn't sell It's a lie, "Hey, kid, don't even try You'll find that your idealistic rambling Will get you into trouble someday." Follow the system, friend, the way that you've been told Don't worry if it seems it's your integrity you've sold Who cares about the government? Who cares about the war? We just need sex and drugs and rock 'n' roll!
9.
Seed 02:25
There's nothing worse than pride derived from someone else's pain When you fight for fun and profit, when you hate for selfish gain There is no tribe superior, there is no master race Mention white supremacy and I'll hide my white face. Based upon your foolish pride, your hatred masks what lies behind Your macho, tough-guy image hides stupidity and ignorance. The seed was planted in you, your heart its roots did find The roots took hold, began to grow, and took over your mind Another brain defeated, another mind struck blind And now it's sad, you'll never see just what you left behind. The choice cannot be made for you And what's been done, we can't undo But too feel some pride in your own color Does not mean bringing down another. Your bigoted existence, your false self-righteousness Your whole life filled with anger, your lack of common sense The hatred grows inside you as intelligence decays The reasons long forgotten why you even feel this way. Based upon your foolish pride, your hatred masks what lies behind Your flowing robes and white hoods hide stupidity and ignorance.

credits

released November 1, 1993


Ben Wrecked: guitar, vocals on "Negative Trend"
Joe Rybicki: bass, vocals
Matt Fish: percussion

music by Ben Wrecked, Joe Rybicki, and Matt Fish
lyrics by Joe Rybicki, except "Negative Trend" and "Seed" lyrics by Ben Wrecked

*please note, operators are not standing by

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whatever... Cleveland, Ohio

whatever... was a Cleveland band in the 1990s. We opened for lots of great acts (e.g., Jawbox, Bosstones, Samiam) and even had a following of our own. Really, if you went to a Cleveland punk show in the mid-'90s, chances are pretty good you saw us. This is the stuff we were playing early on.

You can also hit either of the below links to buy the band's final album, Youngsters, on Amazon or iTunes.
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