Nice, Nice, Very Nice
Available August 11, 2009 in Canada via File Under: Music / Outside Distribution. Releases in USA, UK and Australia should be announced shortly.
Titled in reference to a Kurt Vonnegut poem, Nice, Nice, Very Nice was recorded in Toronto in fall 2008 under the creative eye of producer John Critchley (Elliott Brood, 13 Engines). Dropping in to add their talents were such hero Canadian artists as Justin Rutledge, Veda Hille, Mark Berube and members of Elliott Brood, Said The Whale, Hidden Cameras, Major Maker and Small Sins.
There is a raw rootsiness to Nice, Nice, Very Nice that touches on aspects of indie-pop. There are a number of toe-tappers amid his trademark lamentations and, though it’s mellow at times, what Mangan has to offer isn’t overly precious or delicate. He simply writes songs that evoke the wonder and the absurdity in what we do.
we’ll drive until the gas is gone. and then walk until our feet are torn. crawl until we feed the soil. film the whole thing. it’s all business in the left hand lane. drive there and then drive back again. escape can’t be the only way to escape. so i’ve gotten used to coffee sweats. still getting used to road regrets. hell, i took you up on all your threats to leave. it’s a shame, it’s a crying shame. and ain’t it always the way that takes you back to from where it is you came. and rob he likes his country tunes. it’s never been the lens that i see through. but i guess driving for a week or two puts words in your mouth. so find dodge and then get out of it. it’s about as country as i get. see you ain’t living until you’re living it. not dead ’till you die. but watch out for the paraphrase. for they will crown you then they will take your legs. see the cost is more than what you get paid. but do it anyway. it’s a shame, it’s a crying shame. and ain’t it always the way that takes you back to from where it is you came.
i don’t know what you’ve been told. but i don’t get out much these days. waking young and feeling old the days are no longer my own to piss away the waking hours. but don’t don’t don’t, don’t let them go, don’t don’t don’t don’t, don’t let them go to waste. the fire in my eye is fleeting now your robot heart is bleeding. tried to be the robot king, and settled for a robot boy. ring the bells that still can ring and sing your stupid head off to the ones who are not listening. but don’t don’t don’t, don’t let them go, don’t don’t don’t don’t, don’t let them go to waste. the fire in my eye is fleeting now your robot heart is bleeding out. and i spent half of my life in the customer service line. flaws in the design, a sign of the times. and that little voice in the back of your mind. just wants you to know, just hopes that you know – robots need love too, they want to be loved by you, they want to be loved by you.
The Indie Queens Are Waiting
down the road and on the right hand side. there’s a place i sometimes like to dine. coffee refills ‘far as i can see. i’ll be waking, are you watching me? are you watching, are you? are you watching? or just waiting to see. that your days are numbered, ’cause my days are numbered too. are we cool now? are we cool? bus down to the local record store. buy something to make you like me more. indie queens and tatty’d east side punks. they are listening, and always waiting, and are you watching, are you? are you watching? or just waiting to see. that your days are numbered. ’cause my days are numbered too. are we cool now? are we cool? i’m sorry that i brought it up. it’s not nice to piss you off. and i know, i know, i know. but i was poking and sort of prodding, and kinda hoping, and always watching, for a reaction. a reaction. a reaction – are you watching, watching are you watching? or just waiting to see.
i thought the suits had come for me. found alternatives to honesty. body and soul were bought and sold. patented and out of reach, so i reach but it hurts, it kills, it screams and it fills my heart with chills and i take my pills but i’m still tired of sleeping with the light on. but if it keeps the hair out of my eyes, pack it up. send it home. for just one stab at the good life, that’s enough and i’m sold. so i gave up all my wretched thoughts. left them out for the less fortunate. now at the gate i’ll skip the queue, life’s not living ‘less you’re sure to make it through but now it hurts, it kills, it screams and it fills my heart with chills and i take my pills but i’m still tired of sleeping with the light on. but if it keeps the hair out of my eyes, pack it up. send it home. for just one stab at the good life, that’s enough and i’m sold. lord, i’m sold. go on pack me up, i’m sold. go on pack me up, i’m sold. and if it keeps the hair out of my eyes, pack it up. send it home. for just one stab at the good life, that’s enough and i’m sold.
turn the bars in to cars and wait for the lights to change and take shape of people we used to know until we grow less fond of knowing. we can ride in the night and discard all the facts on our backs remembering the thoughts that we thought since we got over our parents. and if we go where we go and don’t tell anyone where we’re from, we can cut and paste the stars to our hearts and understand their language. and we won’t spit with our mouths or draw lines in the dirt with our heels and every single day we’ll just wait and hope to see the next one. if we go down too easy, my dear we’ll still be the heart of envy of all our friends and peers. so i get home to my home and thoughts are in my head and my bed is full of things i left when i left earlier. and the light through the blinds and through the window pane in the lane where the fire is getting cold for they have burned all of their belongings. and up the stairs there’s a pair who like to be made sure that they were everything they are, for they are sadly mistaken. now i forget how we met for those days have all past, now the cast is filing to the stage in a rage and taking their places. if we go down to easy, my dear we’ll still be the heart of envy of all our peers and friends – my dear, to them we’ll be has-beens. to them, be rogue waves. to them, be lost trains, just posers posing. but we’ll eat with our eyes and weep our good-byes and if that’s what it takes we’ll both drink the kool-aid again. ’till we’ve forgotten where our hearts have been. ’till we’ve forgotten where our hearts have been. ’till we forget just where our hearts have been.
You Silly Git
she says the joys of life are lost among the living. so i guess all those souvenirs are for her health. she gives me quarters for the phone and every time i feel along, i go broke. yeah i go broke. she says if you’re not here, at least make sure you miss me. so when i miss her i make sure to let her know. it’s the least that i could do and sure i guess i like it too, i’m mr. charming without the charming. and i can hear the eyebrows raise when i start singing. ’cause the songs i sing are all about myself. you can read me like a book, i’m not as clever as i look. i’ve got a sneaky kind of selfish that i keep up on the shelf with jars of double-sided comments for people who’ve done nothing wrong. preparing for the lights and always practicing my sha-na-na’s i will stand right next to giants and roar beside the lions, wondering how is it so easy for leaves amid the breeze to blow from hometowns all around us to hometowns where nobody lives – just cities full of people. people making people making people for the masses. people we won’t ever know. she says the point of this is not to date the future. so just focus on the task at hand. try to break up with your pride and start to flirt with satisfied.
Tina’s Glorious Comeback
downtown vancouver, digging through your bag. ripping out the pages of the local music-mag. you missed the show last summer, but now you’ve got your chance. they’re playing at the railway with another emo band. i’m ambitious when giving up. never thinking clear enough. but we’re not elvis anymore. we’re not frankie in his wild years. we’re not tina’s glorious comeback. we’re not us, we’re not us. sold my soul the devil for nice penmanship and now i write real pretty but i’m starting to regret it. if all this was easy, it wouldn’t matter how it ends. i’m ambitious when giving up. never thinking clear enough. but we’re not elvis anymore. we’re not frankie in his wild years. we’re not tina’s glorious comeback. we’re not us, we’re not us. we’re not us anymore, we’re not us.
Et Les Mots Croisés
i don’t want to be a pioneer. a singer sings a sad song when he’s sad. but honey all these years i’ve been upset, i’ve slowly turned the kind of blue that keeps your jeans dry. now i don’t need to re-invent the wheel. a singer needs to feel like he’s been had, it’s all so sad, it’s all so sad. all broke, all beat, all twisted feet and so on and so forth. so don’t steal, don’t lie, just tie your tie and go on and go forth, go on, go forth, sing la de da. so hell, i thought i knew why i was here. to find myself a girl who makes me sad. but i went looking ’round and all i found was this here one who makes me tea and brings the crossword. so how am i supposed to bring us down. to think that i got used to being sad and sometimes down and always blue and did i mention sad? all broke, all beat, all twisted feet and so on and so forth. so don’t steal, don’t lie, just tie your tie and go on, and go forth, go on, go forth. all broke, all beat, all twisted feet and so on and so forth. so don’t steal don’t lie just tie your tie and go on, and go forth, go on, go forth. just go.
oh, and on the screen my love interest is making out with other guys. and i drank not enough to make me drunk and just enough to make me tired. and it’s too easy to be awful to the ones you need the most. in the end, all i hope is that they know. ask the bottom from the top and they will tell you that it’s lonely too. so find a gun and spin the wheel, try to figure out which got you’ll choose. ’cause it’s too easy to be angry at the ones that you don’t know. don’t ask questions, don’t ask directions, just go. paint your pickets white and beat your wife, just don’t forget to shut the blinds. if you can keep your neighbours in the dark, then surely god can close her eyes. ’cause it’s too easy to be righteous when you eat what you’ve been fed. some people don’t question what they’ve read. some people should. some people, some people. so what do you do? what do you do when you go home?
Pine For Cedars
she might be wearing a green chemise and a hat that she bought ’cause it matches her jeans and the water she drinks, well it comes from the stream by the house she might win in that hospital lottery. and i might be stumbling and cursing them all when she picks me up from the place that we both call disaster relief, for the rent must be paid by the first of the month, or in my case fifteenth. this is good. but as far as i can tell, it’s still heavy as hell when it’s good. and i do like the road but i’d be better at home, i will pine for the oak streets, pine for the cedars and you. bean around, i suppose, i have chatted and chewed, i have lugg’d my guitar to the nice cafe blues and when i come home i am coming home to this street and these avenues. this is good. but as far as i can tell, it’s still heavy as hell when it’s good. and i do like the road but i’d be better at home, i will pine for the oak streets, pine for the cedars and you.
we are young, we have years ahead, maybe, we might fall in love or fall apart. fall apart. before it ends, well we should try to start. so i’ll go but i’m telling you i don’t want to go. could be stuck here and happy. there’s a puzzle i work on endlessly, i’ve got the sides and all the corners but there’s a space. yeah there’s a space. lost some pieces i can’t replace. so i’ll be but i’m telling you i don’t want to be just a wasted puzzle piece. now we are old and our son took the dog away. fair enough, guess we’re tired all the time. all the time. and you know dogs, they need ample time outside. so i’ll stay but i’m telling you i don’t want to stay. so i’ll brace myself against the wall and hope to god that i don’t fall, my bones are worn, my hip won’t hold. i used to be so young, how did i get so old? won’t you take my cane and hold my hand, you’re holding on to all i have, just a basket full of memories and i am losing more each day it seems. but if i can make it to the street, i’ll steal a car, or a bike, or whatever there is to steal and it might get cold, i just don’t care, i’m going ’till i’m getting there. i’ll ride my steed all through this town ’till i have looked and i have found your peaceful memory. won’t you return to me? won’t you return to me?