See Where I’ve Come From, See Where I Will Have Come From When It’s Time to See Where I’ve Come From In The Future

by AP Macroeconomics

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    DISCLAIMER (PLEASE READ):
    THE CDS ARE NOT AVAILABLE ON THIS WEBSITE. THEY CAN BE FOUND ON AP MACROECONOMICS BANDCAMP. GO TO THE LINK IN THE DESCRIPTION TO PURCHASE THE CDS.

    Comes in a jewel case, with a lyric booklet and some photographs and doodles by AP Macroeconomics.

    Buy the CDs from AP Macroeconomics here:
    apmacroeconomics.bandcamp.com/album/see-where-i-ve-come-from-see-where-i-will-have-come-from-when-it-s-time-to-see-where-i-ve-come-from-in-the-future

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credits

released September 17, 2016

"An EP I made."
-AP Macroeconomics

With a name like AP Macroeconomics, you would expect something completely horrible or completely funny. Even some of the song titles would seem like jokes. But behind the oddity of a name, Thomas Meskil presents the listener something totally opposite. Mumbling guitars, cohesively cluttered percussion, somber soaked vocals, humble, like a hug from a wise, old friend. Compatible with lyrics that feel both personal to the man behind the name and universal to all who listen, AP Macroeconomics is definitely a musician to keep your eye on.

Recorded and Produced between June 6th to July 22nd.

All Production, Recording, Vocals: Thomas Meskil

The full album is also available for stream on:

Bandcamp:
apmacroeconomics.bandcamp.com/album/see-where-i-ve-come-from-see-where-i-will-have-come-from-when-it-s-time-to-see-where-i-ve-come-from-in-the-future

For more of AP Macroeconomics' work, Check out:
apmacroeconomics.bandcamp.com

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about

Trite Ice Records Spring, Texas

An experimental record label owned by experimental musician Jacob Hutto.

Proud partner with Cavern Brew Records.

Open to submissions.

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Track Name: Flour Child
Hey now,
Flour child.
Seventh grade,
Single file.
Kid parade,
One per hand,
Bassinets,
and rubber bands.
Hey now ,
Flour child,
Family takes,
They're running out.
Child fails,
Bombs the test,
He doesn't care,
Fuck the rest.

Give me a sign you weren't raised like flour.

Flower child.
62.
Dropping out,
SFU.
Dealing hash,
LSD,
Can't just give it away for free.
Flower child,
Where'd you go?
Flower child.

Flower child,
Where'd you go?
Track Name: pre-summer blues (tessa van der raay version)
Have I been here before,
Sober as I am,
Lonely as I am.
Without you here,
Lay me to rest,
With all the ashes I’ve spat out,
Rashes and bad grout too.

It’s the pre-summer blues.
It’s the pre-summer blues.
Indistinguishable from all the shit I’ve had to take,
Lying down, In my bed,
On my side, Lay to rest.
Lying down, In my bed,
Face down, Lay to rest.

Have I been here since,
You told me that you trust me less.
By the look on your face,
The reason’s not too hard to guess.
It’s a form of depression,
Everything’s just a little more weird,
You’re not sadder than your Saturdays around this time of year.

It’s the pre-summer blues,
Everyone gets it now and then.
When warm weather’s near,
And the future’s round the bend
It’s the pre-summer blues,
Nobody tries to understand.
They just sit at home,
And let it drive to them,
Indistinguishable from all the shit they’ve had to take.
This week, this year, this end, this near.
The meek, the sheer, their friends, their fears.

Dogeared pages in the magazines of the days they had wished they had.
Track Name: Adulthood is Having a Place to Put Utensils (originally titled Gay Suck and was changed in accordances to ordinances)
Take up,
Put it in your mouth,
Take it all down til you find your sense of self.
Go fuck,
Give em hell,
You’re wary of the path you’ll take but you make it hard to tell.

Let her go,
As she will,
Don’t give up the things you love that give you thrills.

Wake up,
And you gamble out your days,
And you sit around and laze,
Cause you don’t need to leave the bed,
Gay suck.
I’ll take a final cigarette.
I don’t smoke,
But I know where to place the bet.

Movin’ on,
From the shame,
You don’t need to stay,
But you can’t quit the game.
Cutting through,
Tune in vain,
Close the flask now lest you risk another stain.

And you risk a day for nothing else,
And your ibuprofen doesn’t help.
When your problems all extend beyond yourself,
And you’re giving in it sucks you down.
And you’re always lost in unknown towns,
But only when your city’s citazine,
Keep the countertops all nice and clean,
And you know adulthood when you get,
A place to put utensils yet,
You feel like you’re still doing something wrong.
Track Name: Black Money Scam
Vineweed creeping up the graph,
Nature takes a second for an hour and a half.
Time moves with subjective pace,
It’s how the moving race can be a second to the still.

Spam takes a final boarding call,
As the lines all start to build up at the Lynnwood mall.
Online has taken up a sense,
Room for omnipotence in human life.

Black cash in an leather case,
Million dollar chemicals to hit erase.
We watch as ethics is anew,
What more can we stand to do when no one is around.
Track Name: Pom
Woman you dreamed about,
And wrote a book about and yet,
You never knew her name and yet,
Her face you never could forget.
You found her in a porno flick,
She called you fuck and rode your dick.
You lost the innocence she had,
Her wavy bob and red lipstick.

Fuck your longing and your pride,
It was never yours to have.