Brook Pridemore's Gory Details

by Brook Pridemore

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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    The 5th Brook Pridemore album, on high-quality, virgin vinyl.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Brook Pridemore's Gory Details via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days
    edition of 250 

      $15 USD or more 




released June 26, 2014

Recorded by Brian Speaker at BTP Studios.

Made by:
Brook Pridemore-of course
Doug "Bermuda" Johnson on the drums
Telfer on Bass
John Telethon-lead guitar
Preston Spurlock-Synth, Theremin
Dan Costello-organ, clarinet
Matt Colbourn-Trumpet
Catie Cushing-Featuring on Castrop-Rauxel
Joe Michelini-Featuring on Listening to TPM
Rachel Devlin, Brian Speaker-Harmonies
Grey Revell-Advice



all rights reserved
Track Name: Oh, E
Ruthlessly, electric, cold-pwned, common sense-deficient, I collect my severance, smile, and wave goodbye. Mumbling uncertainty shaken, like a Polaroid, I taxi to the carpark in the sky. There was someone in my room, last night, who made me feel at home, and it was everything I could to go alone. But, if you're like me, you run like hell and get to see the world, until you find yourself in Brighton, missing a girl who never even noticed you were gone, because you're almost always gone chasing bets on reds and greens. So if you can't build foundaries, shucks, you might as well be happy, even if you end up lonesome in between. And if someone pumps your blood, tonight, and you don't feel alone, you should remember, kid, what's in your blood's your own. And if you're like me, you travel light and get there in the end, and you are always within arm's reach of a friend. But, hey: c'mon, just listen for a minute. You know my voice is low and weak. But I was middle of the sentence, when you started to bleat, bleat, bleat. You don't deserve him, and you know it. You're not fooling anyone. Somebody send in Henry Gibson, cause I'm not having any fun. If I could see myself in primers, would I feel like I feel today? How could I ever tell my younger self that it'd be okay, when I'm still looking over shoulders, and I'm in poor and failing health? How could you ever have the balls to kid yourself? But I'm not going crazy, I'm in Georgia, trading shut eye for a midnight run to cotton-copy sand. It's a moonlit night, by proxy, not as bright a light as vibrant plankton trapped, like diamond dancers, in our hands. The kid said, "They only feed at night, in shallow floes like ours," and there had been a hundred incidents, so far. But if you're like me, you dive in head first, straight into the brine, and though you always come up scratched, you're mostly fine. But, then, some stupid grabbed my ankle, and I jumped in shock and fear. Oh, E: I hadn't thought of you in years.
Track Name: Cruel Shoes
I touched down on Gotham for the second time since spring, aimed my charges at the Bowery and dangled by a string. I had an old coat on my shoulders, I had cruel shoes on my feet, and the sinew of my enemies collecting in my teeth, with blood in my mouth, pain in my eyes, I had arrived. Well, self worth counters net worth, any time the two might meet, but I've been lying on a bed of self worth, vainly losing sleep, loose quarters on my bed, bile sweat and buckshot on my clothes. I lost my job, the plot, my faith in numbers, innocence and toes. Blood in my mouth, pain in my eyes, I had arrived. This isn't funny. This was supposed to be the year I got my act together, didn't die, watched my diet, read my bibles, caught my glance in any mirror, man. This isn't funny, it's my life. My hair grew back in time, like all sick people get to mending, I had run the gamut of of bad habits, finished with pretending that mine is the path of least resistance, so you cannot take a break, so I will see it to completion by whatever means it takes, with blood in my mouth, and pain in my eyes, I have arrived.
Track Name: Celestial Heaven or Leap of Faith
On the way to sanctuary I will bypass the apothecary, with questions in my hamper that the rabble-rousers couldn't answer, Elizabeth was kind and took my had. Insurrection on my hot lips, I sit down to humbly pray for hospice, lit by votive candles, in a circle led by middle-level handlers, who profess to help you stand. Suddenly, all eyes were on your man. She said, "You'll never love nobody else, until you love yourself." "I've heard stranger things in church," I smirked, feeling like a jerk, and hobbled home, to put her plan to work. Giggling past the cemetary, floating lighter than a cassowary, family ties long broken, and the wayward son just popping jokes, cause I had finally come to terms with death. And my elder, beared papa has no sympathy for Dada. I can hear his lonesome whisper, in a chiding voice, both slick and limber, explain away the spirit world, one breath, and pray to God, the next. I heard a siren, and it sounded like the voice of something true. I thought a lot about those numbers, and what they must mean to you, cause now I see them, too. Doot-doot-doo-doo-DOOT-doo-doo, and you.
Track Name: The Kalamazoo Promise
The dirt mall's gotten smaller, since we found it years ago. Another empty glass, a city street, about to blow. And I don't think I'd ever drawn a breath, before that day. I guess that you and I are both compelled by chaos, in our own alarming ways. These dumpster diving brothers lead a slighter life than mine, abandoning our baskets for a clearance sale outside. Attention, blackout shoppers, fill your cups and bags with feed. I have long believed that everyone should always get exactly what they need. Seriously. Til they caught me stealing Benzies, by the pouch, and six or seven days, they let me out. On Sunday morning, 8AM, this city safe and sweet. There's nothing but the bums and rags, and me, along your street. I wait til noon, I scrounge a quarter, drop your man a line. I guess that even the city that never sleeps is bound to stop, and take a nap, and even a guy who's sly like I am is bound to get a finger pinched, sometime.
Track Name: Castrop-Rauxel
I wish you still lived uptown, today. Instead of in some sun-drenched condo, the continent away; cuz then I wouldn't be alone, on a Pelham-bound express train, making local stops, tonight. I'd be at home. But, I'm down the shore. Snowy white blankets down, and now I am slipping and sliding across some innocuous town. Running back where I came from, trying never to confront this hopeless ball of veinous twine that I've become. But, everywhere you go, there you go. So I wanna live, wanna live, live, live in a low-pressure scene, where all of the thoughts in my head sound exactly the same, when I speak. Cuz then I wouldn't have to shout, have such awful bile come pouring out my mouth, I could be nice. And, then, I wouldn't be alone, on a Pelham-bound express train making local stops, tonight, I'd be at home.
Track Name: I Am No Captain
Waiting for laughter to die, before I told a joke. Sinister sweat stings my eyes, slammed shut from the smoke. And silence rings out through the crowd, as though I'd barely spoke. So, I start to sing, cuz it seems every day, that even my voice is gonna shuffle away, and where would I be, with no song to sing, and no air to breathe? This city is teeming with grownups, parading as kids. Bullet trains drop off insurgents, caressed to their lids. And I sank in that swamp cuz he told me to jump, so I did. So, I have to laugh, cuz I don't know what's worse: to die in my boots, as if under the curse, or to go on living, half-living like this. Silence is golden, but I am a steel-driving man with a list of iniquities clutched like the lamb in my hand. And I am still treading water, but I'm doing the best that I can. The snow still falls, though it's already late into May. Talking at length to your ghost, though there's nothing to say, and its plugging its ears and its blah, blah, blah, blah, anyway. So I cut and run, in the midst of your trip, cuz I am no captain, and this ain't no ship that I paid to be on, so I cut and run, the damage is done.
Track Name: Listening to TPM
See yourself on blocks, in fighting form, and everybody loves you now, they're glad you're home. Story time is battle scars, yellow lines are track marks, interspersed with loads of fun. It's a top of the rock, snow-capped, Hugh/Barry night. You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright." Broken hearted month, stare at the sun, wonderin' when your hunter's moon is fit to soar. And your friends say you're like an omnivore, only you are imbibing the spirit of the mess you left before. It's a top-of-the-loft string of sweat-soaked summer nights. You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright." And The Boss is always right: you're missing half the point of life, standing on a darkened beach in Seaside Heights. Listening to TPM, about to cross the bridge, again. Playing catchup, where the pumps stay on all night. Your arms are waving bye-bye as you swore you'd go to hell before you dared go back for more. And this will almost always be your life, so you have to take the low parts with the high. This is a day-after-day-is-the-same-day kind of night. You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright." And your body's broke, but you're fumbling for the light, just thinking, "Everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and every last little thing's gonna be alright." See yourself on blocks, in fighting form, and everybody loves you, now, they're glad you're home.
Track Name: Damage Control
Yunno, just because you didn't stay too long, doesn't mean it didn't hurt, when you were gone. The sun goes down, we're in reverse, I found my calling in your purse. The moon is out, and I go down. Tonight, we'll rape this one-horse town. I would buy you stock in roses, if I wasn't on the dole and you weren't only damage control. The weeping, wet Pacific sky looks like a diamond, in your eye. It's getting cold, I'll do my best. I never thought I'd miss the West. I could put my arms around you, give you shelter from the cold, but you were only damage control. I hope you've got a new boyfriend, I hope he likes you more than I did. You opened up, my latest pawn, and I can't take it any longer. Your supple lips, my aching blood, you offer unrequited stuff. Regretfully, I've since discovered the simple want and vacant ache for love is not enough. The morning of, we're well rehearsed. You'll find my love stings like a curse. You pour it on, a noisy bomb, and I am barely hanging on. But if you test my patience, darling, I will eat you whole. You were only damage control. You, you're only damage control.
Track Name: No One Belongs Here More Than You
Your eyes hold my eyes like hands, ten fingers on a train bound for bus stop, where we kiss goodbye, you go your separate way, and I go insane. A new life came upon us, with a rumble in my throat. I started running for the breakers, it was clear we'd missed the boat, and you said, "Baby, check the water, lest we sink before we swim," but I have a foolish heart, and I dove right in. On A Swiftly Tilting Planet, I was brandishing my roots. Summer comes for everyone, but this one had me shaking in my boots. And if anyone had shown up, we would have stopped to fill them in, but you know me so well, so it was nothing but our brains. I was shaking off the DT's, you were getting way too thin, but I have a foolish heart, and I dove right in. So I could blame Elizabeth for the thinly dotted line. I could blame your body, cuz it fit just perfect, next to mine. Or, I might just be thankful for what little time we'd spent. These perfect moments come so rare, I hope that we can do it all, again. If our love had a heartbeat, she would be in second grade. I swore I'd never open up that recipe, again, but then my baby took her coat off, and I gave myself to sin, cuz I have a foolish heart, and I dive right in. Yeah, I have a foolish heart, and I'd jump, again.
Track Name: Brother Comfort
Heavy, like a package bomb. Piece-by-piece retorter, turn my back to the sun, while the second hand comes round the victory lap, Brother Comfort in my tap, turning blood into blood, and I'm standing out back in the yard (it's not that hard). For a while, it's alright, laughing like a fool, all night. But, my life's in arrears, Barleycorn is in my ear, saying, "Listen up, tight, to Brother Wilson, in the light. Do what he says, you'll survive. If you don't, I'm like a poison dart straight through your heart." And when the sun pierced my eye, I was stranded in the back of a car, trying to run, run away from a legion of implacable scars. But, they're deep in my chest, so I run from all the rest of my friends and my girl, and my family is worried, cause I hit 'em like a bomb, shiny people and I'm gone to the next blank page, where a dozen people know my name, but not why I came. And, with my brain like a sponge, both hands are tied tight to the wheel. I kiss my palm, touch the roof, pray to provenance for something real. Feel my chest getting tight, shaking like a leaf, all night. When the morning bell comes, I am nowhere near to done. Sleep is peace for the weak, but the company I keep spends their days underground, when I make the I Need Help sound no one's to be found. Heavy like a loaded gun, something in a movie, shooting sparks out the end, I am lost without a friend. In my shuttered up life, find me fighting for the right to draw it in, push it out, I am stranded, homeless, broke and alone. I pick up the phone. And, when the man took my hand, the decision wasn't even that hard. I run away, run away from the salesmen, back to the yard.
Track Name: Does This Bus Stop At Samariterstrasse?
The light at the head of the tunnel is the light of an oncoming train. I can see my reflection in its' unblinking eye, and I don't want to ride it, again. But I don't want to go to my Dad's, or Detroit, so I ride it at least twice a day. I've been searching for justification so long, it's an unwelcome change, getting paid. And, when my heavy heart hurts, I knuckle down and get back to work. And no one can tell I am any the worse, I hide it so well. The lights that goes on in my window are the light that goes out in your eyes. They both came so easy, they both keep me warm, but like all good things, both have to die. Yeah, well. 99 cents for a holiday favor is no nail to carry your trust, and a fading reminder of what we could be keeps being just barely enough. And, when my heavy heart breaks, I'll gladly re-make my greatest mistakes, certain this is the time it'll take, and we'll roll again. The light that distends every evening is the light of a broken down L. I don't want to be here, but I have somewhere to be, and at least I've a home for myself. I wish I was there, and I wish it were quiet. I wish I hadn't made such a mess. I wish you were here, and I wish you would call but, above all, I wish you the best. And, when the going gets hard, I fold my hand, and show 'em my cards. I have no reason to hide in the dark. I still love my friend. And, when the going gets hard, I hold you in the warmest regard. It don't mean nothing, being apart, when it never ends.