New Jams

by Painted Faces

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about

8th solo record by David Drucker as Painted Faces, all music written and recorded by David Drucker in Brooklyn(with field recordings from Downtown Manhattan) between January-April 2012

"Painted Faces (aka David Drucker) has a new slice of heaven available to you, in the form of New Jams. The album title speaks for itself, as the musical content is a take away from his older style of harsh abrasive anti-music, but not too far removed. David Drucker has been living in New York City for nearly a year now, and this album reveals itself as the culmination of his struggles- not only in artistic form but the daily grind as well, and the beauty of NYC, which are described sonically via his liberal use of sound clips on this album. Beyond the found sound integration, the Painted Faces “feel” is still there. Crazed guitar with drums like death marches, but as with the sampled natural sound, there more emphasis is placed on the context of the lyrics in relation to the music they are layered on top of. One song in particular, Song For America (Fuck You), strikes a new chord for Painted Faces. David himself has professed that this song is a meditation on what he perceives as the viciousness of the contemporary art scene of today. “Living in new york and dealing with the pretentious art world competition… Cut throat us against them artist against artist everyone fucking each other over the american dream”. Indeed through out this album David Drucker is trying to find himself via the horn of neo mutant pop that is New Jams."- Mike Amason, CNC Records

credits

released April 20, 2012

David Drucker-everything

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about

Painted Faces Brooklyn, New York

Painted Faces is the solo recording project of artist/musician David Drucker born in Miami,
Florida but living in New York City for over 5 years. Sometimes there are other members playing live and on tour. PF has played all over the USA and Canada and put out over 14 albums. PF will share its vision with you now.

He has toured all over the USA/Canada with likeminded weirdos.
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Track Name: Tripping On A Sunday
Blood on the tissue.
Blood on the tile.
Blood on the tissue.
Blood on the tile.
Howlers on the rooftop.
Howlers in the darkness.

A little ice cream never hurt no one.
Sea creature tastes the cold on the tip of it's tongue.
Tripping on a Sunday.
Turned into a snowflake.

Assemble the fragments to my damaged psyche.

Blood on the tissue.
Blood on the tile.
Blood on the tissue.
Blood on the tile.
Howlers on the rooftop.
Howlers in the darkness.

A little ice cream never hurt no one.
Sea creature tastes the cold on the tip of it's tongue.
Tripping on a Sunday.
Turned into a snowflake.
Track Name: Song For America(Fuck You)
Evil kid selling candy underground, puzzled looks, indifferent eyes,
Lou Barlow whispers ancient truths in my ears,
Black stockings, black glasses, black lipstick, silent frame.

We're the sons and daughters of America.
We live in these songs.
We're the sons and daughters of America.
We live in these songs.

Fuck all these pretentious pricks who think their work holds weight.
Just lips on a face.
Can’t tell me how to live my fate.

We’re both cut from the same cloth, came outta the same cave.
And fuck you, I’m not above personal jabs in my own songs you pieces of shit.

We’re the sons and daughters of America, we live in these songs.
It’s not what you say but how you say it that counts.
You are what you watch. You are what you read. You are what you listen to.

Hey you, your songs fucking suck and they’re total hipster bait.
And you, your films are awful you pathetic piece of shit.

And you, see if I help you in the future you fucking asshole.
Just you wait and see.

We’re the sons and daughters of America, we live in these songs.

You’re the poet in my heart though you make me wanna fart.
Get started on the part now.
Carve the path young sow.


I love this country.
Love all the people.
Except you and you and you and you.
You guys all suck.
You fucking pieces of shit.

We’re the sons and daughters of America, we live in these songs.

We’re the sons and daughters of America, we live in these songs.

We’re the sons and daughters of America, we live in these songs.
Track Name: Saved By The Smell
When I woke up,
There was nothing at all,
Just a glimpse of a life once lived.
You’re just lips on a human face.
Just lips on a human face.

Went outside to collect my things,
Realized there was nothing to collect.
Just a glimpse of a life once lived.
You’re just lips on a human face.

Just lips on a human face. Just lips on a human face.
Saved by the smell. We were all saved by the smell.
Track Name: Too Stoned To Write This Song
Too stoned to write this song.
Too stoned to sing these words.
It ain't poetry baby.
I'm just really fucking stoned.

I feel my face melting away.
Too stoned to fucking play.
Why are you even listening to me?
Too stoned to come up with a good rhyming word.
Too stoned to get more stoned.
It ain't poetry baby.
I'm just really fucking stoned.

Too stoned to finish this song,
Too stoned to make art.
Too stoned to hold the pen
that I'm using to write this song even
though I said I was too stoned to write this song.
Ah fuck it!