Soon to be reissued on limited edition colored vinyl and picture disc, this mini-album documents the experience of being a broke musician in Long Island and solidifies the signature Bomb the Music Industry! sound. Sing-alongs, drum machines, synthesizers, saxophones played faster than fuck.

click here for the whole album!

Download specific tracks:
1. Happy Anterrabae Day!!!
2. Congratulations, John, On Joining Every Time I Die.
3. Showerbeers!
4. Stand There 'Til You're Sober
5. Dude, Get With The Program
6. Bomb The Music Industry! (and Action Action) (and Refused) (and Born Against) Are Fucking Dead.
7. Brian Wilson Says SMiLE aka My Beard of Defiance
8. Syke! Life Is Awesome!

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NOTES: I started writing songs for this record almost immediately after Album Minus Band was done, but the tricky thing about it was that I started working so much more. It became really difficult to find time after an eight hour work day to crank up your guitar in a way that wouldn't piss off the neighbors, so they wouldn't call the cops. I tried to find time on the weekends, but after suffering from a little bit of writer's block, my girlfriend eventually moved into my house with my parents while she started looking for a job. This left me very little time to actually sit and have fun recording stuff. So I did what any idiot would do, I started growing a beard. I would not shave off the beard until I finished this EP. This wasn't a cold weather beard that insulates and protects your face. No. This was a sweaty, gross, ninety degrees in a fucking basement with no air-conditioning beard. I eventually started working harder to make some time to do this, and the EP slowly turned into a full-length record. This record is about living in a place that you feel you really don't relate to and don't belong in. Whether it's the musical gangs, the ass-kissing, the cokeheads or the desperate attempts of other people to hit it big, for me this record was about how I was going to get out of this fucking place. It was all written in Long Island and it is very expressive of my hope to go around the country playing stupid songs for people who will forget me again. There were a few songs that felt out of place and not fully completed, so I was left with this really weird amount of songs and minutes - too much for an EP, too little for an LP. So let's call this batch of MP3s a ten-inch.

This song probably took the longest out of any Bomb the Music Industry! song I’ve ever written to finish, and that’s mainly because it was predicated on ridiculousness. The introduction was originally crafted to kick off “John Starks: Motherfucker”, a mini-punk-rock-opera based on the New York Knicks losing the 1994 Eastern Conference Finals, which I felt was the first time in my life I had a panic attack. I eventually decided to whittle it down to a two and a half minute song, but trying to write lyrics relating missing lay-ups to social anxiety to punk rock to the depressing nature of interacting with fake people all day... well, it wasn’t that it was tough as much as it was trite. It was boring and forced. My plan to place constraints on myself to write something outside of my own voice that was a bit different had become a failed experiment. During 2005 I had a job as a graphic designer at a venue in Long Island, and ended up seeing quite a few hardcore shows because of it. When I was a kid, I was originally attracted to hardcore because I didn’t feel like I was connecting with whatever it was the rest of the kids in junior high were feelin’. It pissed me when tough guys would start fights because it felt a lot like football, and watching hardcore shows today in Long Island, it has actually escalated to the point where gangs are involved. I feel like gangs are so against the punk rock mentality of thinking for yourself. Y’know, only in fucking Long Island. Eventually I clearly realized that this issue was something I felt a bit more passionately about than John Starks. Speaking of passionately, the moral of this song is that if you make out with a member of a hardcore gang, he’ll probably leave you alone because he is most likely a homophobe.

When we're not feeling strong, we grab the mic and sing along...
Na na na na, etc.
Whenever I go to a show it always feels like I've been time warped back to the eleventh grade.
The scene's uniting so the gangs can keep on fighting.
"Don't say the wrong thing or I'll see you in the parking lot."
Brass knuckles are a great equalizer when you have no self-esteem.
If one guy is outnumbered, how are you the winning team?
Don't get mad if you're hit in the "mosh pit." This is a friendly release.
I doubt that some fourteen-year-old is trying to disturb your peace.

When you bring your fist back to start the attack think about the kid.
You're much too old. He's all alone.
Walk away. Don't kick his fucking ass.

So if I kissed you on the noise or offered you a hug how could you possibly still wanna fight?
We'll drink some beers (or if you're straight edge, we'll drink cola) and we'll talk about how much we both liked Scarface.
You'll back down because you're homophobic.
Gold medals go to the pacifists who won't fight you.
Sorry, dude, this is passive resistance.
Because we're all here for the same stupid reason, we all like some stupid band.
So let's sing loud, proud and clear in a language we both understand.

When you bring your fist back to start the attack,
Think about the reason you went to shows at twelve years old.
We all felt alone. It was NOT to kick my ass.

For any musician, a day job can be a pretty depressing thing - kind of a constant reminder that you’re not successful or good enough to do what you feel is your strong suit for a living. So when John (our guitar player) found out that Every Time I Die’s bassist quit last winter and at the same time realized that a couple of his friends were also good friends with the ETID gang, we all decided to celebrate. I mean, the only requirements for the band aside from the ability to play the bass was that you have to like AC/DC and you have to drink a lot... how could he not get it? This song was meant to congratulate John because we all truly felt he was going to get this gig. This song was also meant to yell at John because his getting this gig would definitely have held up BTMI! a bit. It turns out that his friends forgot to make phone calls until it was too late and they already got the guy from Between The Buried And Me to do it, which allowed John the necessary free time to play the few shows we’d had in 2005. This song is mainly inside jokes, and also part rumor that I heard in a magazine which said ETID’s newest album would be produced by Dave Grohl. I think I read that in Revolver. Punk rock, man.

Congratulations! Go stretch your ears and get a neck tattoo.
Congratulations! All of our friends knew there was no better choice than you.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Congratulations! Are you gonna move up north and throw away your Yankees hat?
Congratulations! Are you gonna swear off ska and stop gelling your hair back?
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Nice going asshole. Nice going asshole.
Nice going asshole. Nice going asshole.
You finally did something right and I'm 2% bummed it wasn't me.

I hope you know that Christine’s gonna ask you to get into all your shows for free
And I will smile while silently resenting you for quitting Bomb the Music Industry.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Now Dave has another friend who’s in a more successful band.
Jenna’s got another contact and another drummer to make out with again! w00t!

NIce going asshole. NIce going asshole.
NIce going asshole. Nice going asshole.
You finally did something right and you'll probably meet Dave Grohl.
And tell us about him when you get home.

Then you'll get the news from me that you’ll never quit this band.
And we’re taking you out on tour for those two months a year that you’re home because we can.
And sure it’s out of spite not to replace you, but you promised and we shook hands.
So remember when you’re back in Long Island, you will forever be forced to be a part of a ska band.

Nice going asshole. Nice going asshole.
Nice going asshole. Nice going asshole.
You finally did something right, I guess state college did pay off!
We're all music majors too, can you make Ferret give us jobs
or at least tell Ferret to sign my band?

If you have never drank a beer in the shower, you’re missing out on one of the finer things in life. When I was on tour with ASOB, the shower rotation went in a way that I was generally one of the people to shower at night - there was less stress of showering quickly and I didn’t have to wake up early to do it. When there was a house party though, it kinda sucked to have to put the drinking to an end because I had to clean myself. Unlike most punk rockers, I like to shower as much as possible - it’s my little bit of OCD. After the first time I decided that “hey, i could fucking drink beer while i shower,” not only did the night showers not seem so bad - I found myself showering at parties even when I didn’t have to. So I figured that’d be something to write a song about. So I told James Lynch. He said “yeah... it could go ‘the only reason i ever shower is so i can drink a showerbeer.” Once someone else gets in on a dumb song idea, I have to end up writing it.

I just got paid/lost my job so it's a heavy night of drinking.
You can smoke in the bar so when I come home I'm stinking.
The smell on my clothes is offending to the nose
But that's not the reason that I'm stepping in.
The only reason I take a shower is so I can drink a showerbeer.

It's pretty depressing to come back home from the life of living day to day and showing up in new places and having everyone pay attention to you and think you're this big awesome shit and being a part of that whole working thing again. When I was writing this, I was applying to about fifty jobs a week and getting no responses, which as someone who took out a lot of loans to go to school so this WOULDN'T happen, it just killed me. Oddly enough, all my friends from school seemed to be doing really well all my friends in bands seem to be doing really well with their bands and I'm still living with my parents and working in a basement for minimum wage because I can't afford to lose the job and ask for a raise. So, I was thinking about all of this shit and that Against Me! song "8 Full Hours of Sleep" was stuck in my head and I wanted to write a song like that really badly. Eventually, this song ended up being one of the very few songs I have that show that I listen to Neutral Milk Hotel and the Arcade Fire. The words are partially about a friend of mine who has done some amazing things when she drank. They're also partially about drinking unholy amounts and still not getting drunk which is the WORST feeling ever. Not much electric guitar in this song, quite a bit of fuzz bass... I used an amp called the Kasino Fever which has an insane amount of fuzz on it... the kind of fuzz that just can't be contained sometimes. Also, I used a set of resonator bells that used to be owned by Tommy Dorsey which is pretty crazy. OK. That's enough I bet.

Brown paper bags metal cans.
Sixty degrees fahrenheit.
We can't see the stars tonight
‘cause apartments generate ambient light
And I'm sorry that we're not already drunk.

Hours later we're getting there
Meters away from the shore
My forty of Corona is just
drops away from being kicked
And I don't know what I'm gonna be tomorrow.

When you stayed overnight making out with a stranger
in the bottom of a boat that belonged to a stranger
and you came home at six in the morning
after being caught ass naked by the dude who threw the party
I thought that we'd never grow up.
I thought that we'd never grow up.

Now all my friends rise at eight.
They go to sleep before midnight.
And I just wanna drink 'til three
Embarrassing myself publicly.
And you all used to be just like me
You fuckers used to be just like me.

So now I sit and stew alone.
Everyone's already sleeping.
Everybody's moved away
and can pay their bills on time.
No one else is making a hundred and ten bucks for twenty hours.
God I hate this fucking place.
God I hate what happened to me.
You promised we'd stay best of friends.
But we can't 'cause I just can't grow up.

And it kills me. Yeah it kills me
that I don’t know what I can do.
I can’t breathe correctly and
I can’t sleep or anything and
I can’t think of anything I can’t think of anything.

Now every night is miserable.
So sad I can't even get drunk.
So let's go out just one last time.
Let's finish off a box of wine.
Do shots of yukon jack and lime.
Can we drink 'til I fucking die?

I'll make you party at my funeral
'Cause mourning is for suckers.
I'll rent a ferris wheel and
cotton candy machine and have open bar
with all the Pabst that you can drink
the PA blasting my Clash records.
You'll finally know that life's okay
Even when bad things happen.

So just one more beer, then grow up.
So just one more beer, then grow up.
So just one more beer.
Go to work.
Pay your bills.
Eat a dick.
One more beer, THEN grow up.

This song was actually written a while before it was recorded as "...And Now I Live In Athens." It was basically a response to a lot of people asking me about my former bandmates, whether I see them at all anymore, how it feels to have ditched them which I never saw it as the case. I just saw it as taking a breather. So this song was very much about what I felt was well worn territory within my songs: leaving it all behind! Wow! So it sat around for a little bit, and I really loved the song so I guess subconsciously I didn't wanna put it out with lyrics that I felt kinda half-assed about. Then one day I came into work and an owner at my job got everyone together in a circle and said "Look, I don't know who you guys are necessarily or what you do, but I feel like we're a family here." What I later had heard from other people I worked with was that he brought up the term "family" to justify making paycuts to some pals of mine as some kind of effort to "pull through together." By the end of the week, rumors had started floating around about a lot of people losing their jobs,and subsequently those rumors turned out to be true. About a day or two after this meeting, I was in the shower before a show and thought of the "pack and get out fast, no going out with a blast" line. I thought "hey... maybe that's a better start to the song." When I left the shower, the subject matter of the song changed dramatically to kind of suit where I was when I wrote THIS thing and I ended up being happier with this than most of the songs I've ever written.

Pack and get out fast.
No going out with a blast.
No leaving here tomorrow.
And don't think about any kind of severence fee.
Unemployment won't be paid by crooks and cheats.
So enjoy your rice and beans if you can afford the beans.
That's a little joke that I have.

A fuse with dynamite sticks attached.
A hand that's holding a match
and lighting it tomorrow.
And the flames of discontent will not be washed away
'cause the flames will be kept alive by piles of cocaine.
It didn't have to be this way.
You could have figured out a way to help us out but you just said


Don't give the money to the kids.
Vapor rub on the eyelids.
Not a change tomorrow.
Tell us how we're all making sacrifices
But it's hard to sacrifice when we don't make decent wages.
Have you seen our salaries? They're kinda like your salaries without all the zeroes.

You're working on your first million.
I'm on my first thousand.
And bills are due tomorrow.
Something about helping out the family
But that must means your kid can drive a Mercedez
'Cause there's no relation here.
Family does not get pushed out the door and get told...


So take your things off the shelf.
You got about an hour, you're a peon with no power
So don't YOU tell ME that I did something wrong.
So take your things off the shelf.
I'll be in the other room with a lighter and a spoon.
Go on get get on your way.


[cutting corners! downsized! laid off!]

And you deserve exactly what we're giving you and we're giving you nothing.

I wrote this song after I saw a couple of my friends start to get even MORE jobs and get promoted to better jobs and I felt like I was kinda staying stuck where I was. The positives of this were that I didn't have to wake up early and commute, I got to do something that was mildly creative and most importantly I didn't have to kiss anybody's ass or edge anyone out for the top. I also feel a lot better about making music when I don't have to do those things. It still stings quite a bit when your friends start lapping you, getting raises before you even get a career going but the truth is if you work too hard at anything, you're not gonna be clever or creative: you're going to be part of the 90% of the population that tries too hard to advance at what they're doing. So this song is about taking stuff at your own pace even if your future depends on it. It's also about how miserable that can make you. The song title is a reference to an old Born Against song. A lot of bands have taken that song title and made it their own and I felt that it would be REALLY CLEVER if I did it too. Also, the "Everybody's clever nowadays" vocal part was ripped straight from the Buzzcocks. This song was actually a very conscious attempt not to write a song with a million parts, considering I had just finished "Dude..." and that song seemed to have a lot going on. Verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, instrumental break, chorus. Simps.

One more just passed me by.
I'm running out of fake interest in everybody doing shit.
I think about ten months ago when
I was drinking in Seattle about as far away as I could go.

So wait 'til tomorrow.
It's happiness vs. survival.
And you know that life can be a drag.
I'll be happy at the bottom of the pile
Brass rings were never my style.
Don't mind me 'cause soon I'll be out of your way.

Where can anyone possibly be comfortable?
'Cause everybody has to eat and there's not enough to go around.
At a job working for a power grab or at a show bitching about a time slot.
We all gotta be heard and it's all the same,
No one has interesting to say.

Say "Fuck tomorrow!"
Stop worrying about your survival.
You know that life can be a drag.
You'll punch and kick to the top of the heap
And you'll be replacable like all the other sheep.
Workers of the world unite and just give up.

Give up on me 'cause the truth is I'm not happy either way.
Everyone is SOOO original.
Everybody's clever nowadays.
I wanna drop out of the human race tonight.

I'll wait til tomorrow.
I always wait til tomorrow.
You crushed my spirits for today.
I'm happy at the bottom of the pile.
Brass rings were never my style.
Just try and be polite when you push me out of your way.

Unless you live and work in Williamsburg (or Park Slope I guess) or you're in a successful indie/math rock band that does not need to has real jobs, I truly feel that growing a beard is a very rebellious act, it's the spikes and hair dye for twenty-somethings. Let me tell ya, if you're a guy, you can grow some kind of beard once you hit your early twenties. Even if you don't have much facial hair, you can grow something. It'll look like shit for a while sometimes: when I grow a beard it looks awful until about a month in. But then one day you'll wake up and see "holy fuck! I have a beard!" Now, as for the rest of the world, they don't really like beards. If you're going to a job interview, you should shave off your beard if you want the job. If you're going out to meet ladies at a club, you should shave off your beard. Isn't that ridiculous? You'll know your true friends if they stick with you while growing a beard! With that said, this song was nothing more than an attempt to write the greatest breakdown in recent hardcore history, something to challenge "Sunshine The Werewolf" by Dillinger Escape Plan, and we will play it loud until spin kicks happen. As far as the lyrics go, it's difficult to take beards seriously as a listener. I bet it's also difficult to take a line like "Stick it to the man, because the man don't own your face" seriously. But come on, there's SOME truth in there, right?

I’m twenty-two and I live at home
And I hate my shitty job and shitty wage.
I feel like I need an attitude adjustment.
When the transformation’s over you can see it on my face.

Grow a beard and a ‘stache.
Move out to the woods.
Do the H.D. Thoreau-thing and start feeling good.
Disconnect the phones and sever all the credit cards.

You hate the options they present to you
And everything is owned by someone lame.
Here’s a lesson how to deal with corporatization:
Stick it to the man because the man don’t own your face.

Grow a beard and a ‘stache.
Move out to the woods.
Do the H.D. Thoreau-thing and start feeling good.
Disconnect the phones and sever all the credit cards.

You say they’re not much different then me.
I disagree. They’re buying 200-dollar designer jeans.
They drink martinis. I can’t afford a shot of whiskey.
The joke’s on everyone but me.


This song took forever because I really wanted to capture the themes from the beginning of the album and implement them in a way that didn't sound forced but also didn't sound predictable. I had at least a dozen A B A' B B' C A structure patterns written down for it, always wanting to do more but being painfully well aware that if a song is longer than four minutes it better HAVE to be longer than four minutes. Cutting out a lot of the repitition in verses and vocal patterns and stuff really seemed to take away from how I wanted the song to build, and finding the right place to put the themes in proved to be a pain in the ass. So I tried it a bunch of different ways, and eventually I just cut a little bit of junk out so it kinda sounds like 20-second blasts of different genres whether it be alt-country, post-punk, reggae or synth pop. I dig it. There are one or two REALLY bad punches in this mix that jump out at me every time I listen to it, and I really should have caught them earlier and fixed them but I was so happy to have this thing done. The song was about how I was fed up with wasting my time in my shitty town with my shitty job. Then one day, Glenn Tillbrook played at my club and I volunteered to pick him up. He hung up his phone when he got in my car, we talked about my old band, his old band, the music industry, my ideas for Bomb the Music Industry! and a bunch of other stuff. When you talk to the guy who wrote "Pulling Mussels From A Shell" and he turns out to be a cool dude who is a lot like you and your friends, you kinda realize that life isn't always shitty. I thought about a couple of moments in the past few years that I wouldn't trade for any amount of money, success or freedom and figured, fuck, I guess I'll write ONE song that isn't all whine and no dine.

I sat along the rocks and watch the cold Maine water rush away.
The sun and my guitar and I knew what you were doing yesterday.
You broke those promises but I’ll get over it.
‘Cause as long as I’m breathing fresh air I don’t really give a shit
So I’ll complain for the next ten years, but remember that sometimes things are great.

I didn’t have directions and I hadn’t eaten anything all day.
We sucked a fat one and wasted a hundred dollars just to play.
I ate a bag of peanuts right before the windy road.
And I couldn’t drink a thing all night ‘cause of the vomit in the back my throat.
Then you gave me your number and your sweatshirt so I didn’t give a shit.
So I’ll complain for the next eleven years, but remember that sometimes things are great.

You don’t own me! You don't own me!

I worked my ass of my entire life to accomplish one dream.
It started happening and everything was bastardized my greed.
I said “pull this shit over and let me out
I swear to fucking God I’m fucking giving up right now”
And now I’ve got a brand new start, I remember that something are great.

Scream it in apartment halls -
Scream it loud in shopping malls -
Take a ball point pen and paint the inside’s of your eyelids with the constant reminder:
You don’t own me. You don’t own me.

Then I was underground without food or sunlight or encouragement.
Depression set in ‘cause I was a product of my environment.
Then the other day, I got in my car.
Pick Glenn Tillbrook up from the hotel, drive him to the bar.
He wore a t-shirt just like me and wasn’t on his phone
and for fifteen minutes I had a conversation with a hero.
So I’ll complain for the next ten years...
And after that we’ll go drink beers until the bar runs out of beers
prepare for the next twenty-three years.

‘Cause if I wasn’t a fat kid in high school, I would have never listened to punk rock.
And if I knew how to throw a football, I would have never played any music.
And if never got my heart broken, I would sing “blah blah fucking nothing.”
And if you didn’t fuck my ex-girlfriend, I would still owe you three-thousand dollars.
And if I never lived in that van I wouldn’t have met Chris or Steve or James, Alex or Middagh.
And if I never worked in a basement I would have never moved out of my house.
And if I had a big emo band or dropped out of college, I would have never met you, man.