Mrs.

by Shiloh

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  • Digital Album

    Immediate download of 10-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

    Buy Now  $5 USD  or more

  • Mrs. Limited Edition Turquoise Cassette

    This is a lovely cassette pressed by Rhed Rholl Recordings. It features some stunning artwork of grimy scenes of Northwest Indiana. Includes extensive liner notes. Plus its shrinkwrapped. How professional. Each order comes with STICKERS and BUTTONS and a personal little note from us to you.

    Includes immediate download of 10-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

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  • "Mrs." Compact Disc

    This is the CD version of Mrs. We have 95 of them! They come in a really nice, snazzy and pretty two panel Digi-pak, nice and shrinkwrapped and stuff. Every order comes with a packet of STICKERS and BUTTONS and a personal little note from us to you. :)

    Includes immediate download of 10-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

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about

Mrs was recorded during eight stressful days between July and October of 2012.
Engineered/produced by Rick Riggs & Shiloh at Handwritten Recording in Chicago.
Mixed by Rick Riggs & Shiloh.
Mastered by Adam Scartozzi at BlackBloc Studios.

Hopefully it makes you feel something.

credits

released 05 February 2013
All music by Shiloh.
All words by Alex Reindl & Ryan Ensley.
Shiloh is Alex Reindl, Ryan Ensley, Tommy Noir and Calvin Schaller.
Michael Mac contributed extensive electric guitar to this record.

tags

tags: folk alt-country garage grunge rock and roll roots rock scum pop Chicago

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: Midwestern Sigh
There's a neon sign to guide you home,
dismembered eyes and pickup trucks,
pinup girls all giving up....
And lucky stars on scratch-off cards.

I stole a smile from a pretty girl.
Her long blonde hair looked like the end of the world:
Sunken faces and dying ash, all the things I want but I just can't ask.

So shake your legs to ancient death,
say a soda prayer for the out of breath...
and they turn their heads and they close their eyes
and they shut the door with a midwestern sigh.

Your unborn brother turns in a seed under your thumb
while you smoke a cigarette and keep on playing dumb.
While far away in that Hoosier state where I go from time to time
a blue-blooded swollen brain finds amputees in the classifieds.
Track Name: An Immaculate Man
Sometimes I feel like I am being watched by shadows black, steady as clocks
tick tock in line with the beat of my own heart countin' down the time until I go.
I dreamed a flood of dogwood flowers filled my mansion up.
The Kairos hour drowned all of the above until the only thing in sight was a sound I love.
I've got this friend of mine you see... He always wants what he can't ever be: a bridal veil of buzzin killer bees or the dead algae floatin' on the sea, a Geronimo jump into a lake of blood or the sharp flared hook inside the fishes gut.

My love. I flushed my insides out, now I'm clean as sand because I am an Immaculate Man.
I speak in code cuz I don't want you to know what I really am, a sacrificial lamb, I'm an immaculate man.

I will not bow to the sour shogun's Sisyphian fist demanding I blow it a kiss.
I'm sick and split down the center of my illegitimate designer suede new-wave brain.
I know. My baby I, I really know.
All I want is to be cleansed of the evil I've attained that has taken up like a vagrant.
I'm amazed by the shipwrecked saint all adrift amongst the ink as I swim from vice to vice in a sea of sin, and my thoughts are flies buzzing 'round a brain of shit that came out a mind so completely full of it.

I quit, cuz I just can't admit to the wants I have or to what I am, I'm an Immaculate Man.
I speak in code cuz I don't want you to know what I really am, a sacrificial lamb, I'm an Immaculate Man.
Track Name: Busted, Rusty
Your hearts murmur is angry electricity
My busted, rusty bike chain is more and more like me

And I keep sipping coffee & all I taste is gasoline
Wondering what things that become like me are like
Who am I? Who am I?

I'm train tracks and nervous habits
Endless static in the dirty air
That spans corners and car crashes
Drunk on love or brain damage

Your bloods boil is blackened fetish fantasy
Heartless, faceless fuckers they smear on disease

Your souls belly is a whale harpooned deity
The one that got away is becoming more and more like me
Track Name: It's Good Then It's Gone
I know that love is a song. It's good then it's gone, and there's nothing wrong. You live and you love and you lose, and you can't refuse what happens to you.
Bricks, bats, canes, hats, a pen, a sword, a chain, an axe... there's nothing you can use to cut up or cut away, save it for another day, can't cut out that dark part of you.
And it's true: lovers get you high, then leave you dry.

All the lives that I've ever lived, like spit in a sieve, there's more here to give. Love is not the absence of pain, sometimes they're the same; the sink is the drain.
Oh you were my favorite song, but I got the words wrong, I sang it out of key. I put you on a pedestal and then something happened to me.
I couldn't see. That you wanted to be free. Oh you.

And it's true: lovers get you high, then leave you dry.
Track Name: Make it Die
Broken down city rat patrols the cars and caravans observing all the understanding members of the race of rat kings. He's got the keys to sunken streets beneath the sleeping sleeveless sleaze that haunts the stealing student scene.

They see that it's not ok to be a winner if you're free.

Cuz winners win a life of living up to their careers beginning. The things they thought would free them: singing, stinging in their arm. They trap their selves, map their health, record every lap. They felt the happiness they thought would help keep from doing harm.

I know you hurt yourself. But why not someone else?

Cuz you're a loser, moving user, manipulative intruder choosing the abusing useless path. Faking out the breaking down of your brain making no sound as it waits to take you to the ground.

I've got a dream and I am gonna make it die.

You know I want a lawn to mow. I'll dream, get high, leave, die real slow to think I'm holding on to something that's already gone.

I've been alone and lonely known my own meaninglessness has grown. I've got a dream and I am gonna make it die.
Track Name: Plasma Kids
Were you the one who drank my blood?
Now you can't even lift your own poison cup
You drained a vein and you blame bad luck
A prayer you kept and wouldn't discuss

Some time ago you shed your skin
In a parking lot that you were raised in
And the plasma kids all got paid in tens
There was a winking buick , It sat waiting for them
Track Name: Winking Buick
instrumental
Track Name: Leaving, Longing
Oh, the passing faces the leaving places
Kind of longing, leaving nooses in your gut
Oh, you all day sleepers some in small apartments
Who feed on blackened bitten fingernails
Brave rooftop jumpers who climb those 26 flights
Rehearsing nursery rhymes to jumbled jack o lantern minds
Oh, the passing faces the leaving places
Kind of longing, leaving nooses in your gut

Blonde girls put their hair up into a pony tail
And it bobs through morning runs

Men made of stone, they slouch through noon and they crumble
Under bridges the endless underbelly
Teenage sons and daughters
They're blacking out behind parked cars
And spilling smiles filling paper cups
Track Name: The Drugs Won't Bring It Back
I just miss driving around with the smoke clouding up the car. Summer nights, summer sounds, too young to get into the bars. So we drink in basements, puke on the pavement and fall in love with ourselves. Not caring what the morning brings, under water. Under a spell.

I miss three a.m. with my fucked up friends and the traffic cone in the drive thru. Gettin bloody coke nose at shitty punk shows, passing out with an illegal smile. And driving drunk to the graveyards gates with a girl you haven't seen in a while. And drives to Indianapolis... This pack will last another mile.

Coffee and smokes and a vicodin grin and the sadness that swallows you whole. Or two bottles of wine and a girl I call mine in a lovely little snowed-in hole. Empty streets, hearts skipping beats, I'm a man in the back of this car. Oh the mist and dark at Meadows Park and the lonely person you are.

Please don't give me a reason to be here with my head in the past.
The love I had then is gone, but the drugs won't bring it back.

I shot dope in a car downtown tryna find the stars in my eyes that I had seen when I was sixteen dreamin' dreams that had yet to die. And I lost hope as winter tightened the rope around the summer in my head. And I tried to die but lost track of time going on the nod again.

Wake up at noon, need a needle and spoon to quiet the laughter I hear ringin through my mind from a different time that's stayed with me through many years. I miss my brother a lot and smokin pot in the bathtub after school upstairs. But every day I'm gettin further away from the people who still really care.

And please don't give me a reason to be here with my head in the past.
The love I had then is gone but the drugs won't bring it back.
The life I had then is gone but the drugs won't bring it back.
Track Name: Perfecting the Art
Walking by a hospital with sunglasses around my neck, cig in my mouth and I'm blowing smoke at all the dying patients, I see cancer in their eyes, and death is no surprise: they are waiting for it.
Oh she's in the back seat with her legs up in the air, her fingers in her hair. I can smell it on me.
Come on, who's the next girl that you're gonna fall in love with? Get hurt by the drugs that she brings around you.

Where did all the sun go? I thought it was just shining. Something in this sky is a fucking liar. I've got lots of pretty words that sure sound good in songs, but somethin still feels wrong with what I tell you.

And I'm not free of the people that I once thought I could be. They cling to me like skin that's not quite shed, or the memory of a friend who used to be the first in your phonebook. You're perfecting the art of the "staying alone" look.

Lipstick on the lips that you kiss between her legs, will you love her when she's dead to you? God she's such a sucker for the heavy metal sound that when it comes around you can hear her shaking.

Oh she left her clothes in your room one afternoon, you thought you'd see her soon but you have yet to. Free your mind from all the chains that memory imposes, bury all the roses you've been saving.