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Maydays

by Fuck Your Birthday

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1.
Cargo Shorts 04:08
I don't want to get ready for it and I don't want to go out. Please, don't pressure me into it. It's my time. Let me make it count. You're only trouble that I don't need. I don't need. Leave me in rubble. Let me bleed. Let me bleed. Struggle for nothing. Break my knees. Break my knees. I'll put them in cargo shorts to keep them with me. Keep them with me. I don't want to get ready for it. Now all my powers knocked out. It's too hot. My AC is turned off. Soon I'll be a stain on the ground. You're down to double the agony. Agony. Make me your pupil. Teach suffering. Suffering. At least it's something I'm learning. I'm learning. Knowledge in my cargo shorts. They're too heavy. Falling off me. Hey!
2.
Afterlife 04:10
I'll find myself a hole. No one can tell me where I belong or why I should start fixing my broken art. My broken art. My broken art. Doing dumb things for fun until I die old. Doing dumb things for fun until I die. When I lie down in my tomb, include the things that were in my room. I want to give it a try. That stuff is mine. That stuff is mine. That stuff is mine. I'm taking my Jaguar to the afterlife. I'm taking my OC-3 to the afterlife. I'm taking my golden kick drum to the afterlife. I'm taking my Ludwig snare to the afterlife. To the afterlife.
3.
Soul Clothes 02:30
(instrumental)
4.
They said it couldn't be done, that I was mad. Well, maybe I am a little mad cuz I want to control life. Now they will see my monster. Two bolts on its neck. Light it up. It's alive and I feel like a God, but something's wrong. Sleep won't come to me. My monster is gone. I made you of old body parts, then you strangled my brother. I'm distraught. I really regret making you. Now you beg for another. No fucking way after all of this trouble.
5.
Astro-Widow 03:55
Blooming in the night; a new star near a satellite. We're watching you grow out of control and into our homes. The storm is everywhere; lightening bolts flashing in your hair like cinema gold, but with no hand to hold you appear so vulnerable. You know, an actress acts for heart-shaped snacks. Black widow. Black widow. We are damned. Black widow. Black widow. It's cruel attack. Hearts drained flat. We're not dead yet. We won't forget.
6.
Slum 51 04:31
My alien crashed into the sand with his heart in his hands. My credit card maxed out at Walgreens. I bought him everything he needed. My uncle slept while I took him in and washed his alien skin. I know he's not a pet. But I know he is my friend. You know? I don't have much else. So please don't him away. So please don't him away. So please don't him away. Agent scum. Stay out of my slum. You're no fun. You're not welcome. Agent scum. Stay out of my slum. You're no fun. You're not welcome.
7.
Ho Chi Minh 05:29
I'm swimming down the drain pipes in Ho Chi Minh chased by projections of dangerous men. My subconscious wants me home. I've seldom seen my face since I've been erased. Running through a newsroom on broken legs. The cameras all cut to bones. A kick ends my dream-job in Ho Chi Minh. Awake but I still think I'm a hologram. When the train stops, I'm getting off. A sailor's anchor in mid-drop. As quickly found, as quickly lost. Natural or digital specs of dust? I'm sitting on my skateboard in Wenzhou watching the sunset dive down below a mountain. Just like home. Street lights come on. It's so obvious like I had asked a genie to waste a wish on something inside a phone, on something I've had all along, on something I take in my soul anywhere around the globe. I'm home. I'm already home. I'm home. I'm always home.
8.
(instrumental)

about

““Afterlife” drips with an earnest sound that is as catchy as it is sneeringly in-your-face. It reminds me of when I used to stay up late in high school, recording college radio shows to cassette, and just hoping the DJ actually says what they’re playing. This is the type of song that I would have loved to find on Napster and force my friends to listen to. In the age of crystal clear production in million-dollar studios, FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY is a welcome throwback to a time when bands just said “Fuck it. Let’s record an album and hit the road.”” – Toilet ov Hell

“Weaving together elements of garage, math, pop and indie rock with dashes of post-hardcore edge here and there, FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY seem to be masters at all things catchy and eclectic. With its slow-burning verses, massive guitar chords, and earworm choruses, “Cargo Shorts” is what would happen if Weezer had more balls. From the angular pop of “Afterlife” to the dreamlike passages of “Ho Chi Minh”, Maydays is a delightfully volatile half-our rock record.” – Svbterranean

credits

released June 8, 2018

Catalog ID: NEF-36
nefariousindustries.com/nef-36

Roman Meisenberg: Drums / Sampling
Christopher Henry: Vocals / Guitars / Bass

Ricky Gartrell: Sax on "Goodbye and Good Riddance" - @rickygartrell

Recorded by Fuck Your Birthday in Wenzhou, China
Drums for “Cargo Shorts” + “Afterlife” Recorded at Passion Music by Yuan Tao 袁焘
Mixed and Mastered by Christopher Henry

Portrait of Chris: Radio the Artist - @radiotheartist
Design/Photography: Roman Meisenberg

©℗ 2018 Nefarious Industries.
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nefariousindustries.bandcamp.com

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Fuck Your Birthday Morgantown, West Virginia

Fuck Your Birthday is a rock duo born in Morgantown, WV and currently stretched between NYC and Wenzhou, China.
Christopher Henry - Guitar
Roman Meisenberg - Drums

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