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Feel the Summer's Heat EP

by Motes

supported by
Global Psychedelia
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Global Psychedelia Urbana (represent!) shoegazers' songs are deep fuzzy, lapping soft waves approaching your dock, but they poke you with the weird finger to make sure you don't fall asleep. Favorite track: Glimmer.
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1.
Glimmer 04:56
You hide in plain view beyond the range of calendars and herbicides. Besides, your classmates are all alive, enlivening the hive we coincide. Don't act surprised when I recognize the trope of regicide. Kings always die in line, they're wasted every time, fulminating in forgotten rhymes. When did it get so hard for you to even start breathing again in the morning? When last she flew she didn't wait for you to say "time flies." She had to get out of Atlanta, coming back home to Urbana, stayed just long enough to plan a move to Kalamazoo .And we knew. We waited on it but the feeling it just grew . . . and grew into a California stew. Our pockets are empty too, we know what to do. We know just what to do. When did it get so hard for us to even try keeping our own secrets? When did it get so hard for me to even start breathing again in the morning?
2.
Headstrong 03:50
Headstrong, drop it in your pocket. Heartsore, let it lie. Headstrong, pick it like a locket. Take it as it comes. Don't leave until you're done. If you tangle with December you'll be beat by March. You can sleep until September and miss the summer's heat and fighting in the street. Headlong rushing into rapture, you might find your heart poised for danger and disaster or deep in the sublime, sincerely making time. Headstrong doesn't make you heartless, doesn't make you cold. Still you're very far from artless. C'mere and show me all the writing on your wall.
3.
Charlene 05:17
Incense sentimental resistance, you're living it up now, going down the memory hole. See if I care. Token taxi driver, a distant friend unlisted, holding up the wall. Why don't you write another poem all about this trainwreck you call your life? And why don't you have another drink while we hold the elevator door for you? And hey, do you think it's true what they say about the rain--it won't let up until you explain to me again all about your morning from getting up? Fifty thousand tourists in seven hours bumper to bumper, winding down the daze. See if I care. Fortress homestead harvest, a solar flare. Community service. Ice cream on the floor. Maybe you should write another screenplay all about your family, but change the names. Maybe you could even invent a part for you--yeah, that'd be rich. Cuz motherfuckers always believe everything you tell them, I'm telling you. So go on, girl, tell me once again all about this story you're editing. See if I care. See if I care. See if I care.
4.
Twice past sunset, ain't supposed to be out back of this bar, your hand on my knee. Got to, going to, do do do . . . Your hand doing that thing it ain't supposed to do. Downriver, upriver, upriver, downriver, honey and glue. Got to, going to, do do do . . . Honey and glue. Ain't supposed to be, your hand between my knees. Twice past sunset, this bar, this sweet mess. Ain't supposed to do do do do do do. Downriver, upriver, upriver, downriver, making all this honey and glue . . . Honey and glue.
5.
Should 04:33
I don't think it's weird if you don't. And I won't tell a soul if you don't. I can't help myself if you can't, and you can't go home again if I can. And I won't hesitate if you won't, and I don't wanna know why you don't. I would let it go if you could. You'd wanna show me why I should.

credits

released July 10, 2012

Matt Cohn drums and percussion
Elizabeth Majerus bass and guitar and vocals
Matt Mitchell guitar and bass and vocals

Recorded by Mitchell at Studio Sisyphus, Urbana, December 2011 to June 2012

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Motes Urbana, Illinois

In the traditions of post-punk and dreampop, Motes' guitars are rhythmic and noisy, and their melodies are hushed and frail. The group is decidedly Midwestern, though, in their exploration of emotion through imagery and exposition. Their poetry has a kind of existential clarity; and sometimes, through layers and modulation, Motes get messy—but never miss the mark. ... more

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