Once time, money, and personnel patience ran out, this collection of roughly mixed, unfinished studio demos were all that remained. Although this band line-up no longer lines up, its reverberations are well worth a lather, rinse, and repeat. So I've rendered this chronicle of the 2nd incarnation of the ongoing Schmaltz saga while we're still young.
released November 24, 2013
Mike Watson=fretted & fretless guitars, keys, vocals. Dion Thurman=drums. Barney Firks=fretted & fretless basses. K.c. Dalton=guitars, samples, iPhone. Jason Pich=bass on "Intrigue Generator" & "Yea Right". Brian Riggs=keys on "Chew The Fat". Jeff Forrest=additional vocals. Bill Ray=drums on "Pre-Sellout". Ed Stocke=additional guitar on "Pre-Sellout".
Work the will of God, like a frivolous lawsuit recruit, interpreting incomprehensible language like an almost schizophrenic arbitrarian librarian, one who reads religious figures in every piece of toast, in every rock formation, just random information, or God seeding inspiration? Does chaos really bear Christ's likeness over there? Or is it the product of a mind designed to recognize the pattern of a face, even when scattered about the place? If you're looking for meaning amidst the scenery, you're sure to be wrong, just like when you look for a higher meaning in this song.
Track Name: Pansy Scheme
We’re in a time of glacial drift, an ice-age if you will
Where cheese is what it takes to please the masses down the hill
It’s slowed its roll down to a crawl, but now it threatens to freeze us all
Cheese not like when it came as a wheel, as a slice, in a can, in a ball
We’re in a time of flash mob rule, where any public group of dancing fools
Can convince the rest that cheese is cool
I know what it is you’re likely to say, “I don’t care what you think, I like it that way”
That sense of social synchronicity, The seeming spontaneity
The feeling of spiritual connectivity, The gleeful cheer,
And after the dance you can be romanced by a Kardashian in her underpants
Carry on about your cheese-wheel-chill, I’m sure your own selections will thrill you much more
We’ve got nothing better that can get you any wetter than Snookee & the Sitch on the Jersey Shore
But we take pride in our pissing on your parade, the processions of depression all the networks made
Speaking of “piss”, a new genre’s come out; a new designation leaves our nation little doubt
That I may be fucked as you can clearly see,
But at least I’m not as fucked up as these assholes on TV.
Track Name: Hope's Ghost
I want to make this clear
I've spent most of my life sitting on my rear
You’re probably better off
Spending your attention to jerk a tear
From another’s turbulence
Self-inflicted or from loss of one near and dear
Hope springs fairly long
But certainly not eternal or in this song
I need to clarify
I've spent most of my life saving up a lie
When hope begins to die
My poverty could be something one might buy
I've got my empty truth
It’s all I've left to sell to the jaded youth
The one’s whose purchase power
Lets them define the flavor of the hour
If truth is what you want
Here’s a house some ghosts of past truths still haunt.
Track Name: Sack Lunch
He wears tight shorts/ he plays his sports/ he gets his kicks on the basketball courts.
Rubbing up against all those sweaty guys/ he sneaks a quick peek to compare his size.
If you can’t tell I’m a man I’ll do all I can to prove it’s so because I want it to show
With a little goose here and a nuggie there then I’ll run my hand through my James Dean hair.
Let there be no doubt about my sexual clout see my weenie’s kind of teeny but It’s proud and stout.
little dead fishies in a sea of vanity
with his superhero stature tightly wrapped, displayed in majesty.
Snuggly packed without a vent renders his ball sack impotent.
(Those things hang low for a reason you know, why you want to be squeezing ‘em so?)
Pull them up the crack in back in those black bike shorts that supports your shriveled sack.
With that camels toe and those roller blades, when it comes to the womenz, you’ve got it made.
You gotz yourself a pretty packaged little… but! it must be hard sucking in that gut.
He’s packing up a sack lunch with a footlong submarine.
With an apple and an orange there’s no room left in between.
Chorus “ “
Track Name: Intrigue Generator
Post a secret message
On my new Myspace account
A cryptic line of letters
To what might they amount?
I’ll send a covert complaint
Through the title of a song
And/or a little line of lyrics
5 or 4 words long
I’ll send a shady signal
To the ones who done me wrong
With my intrigue generator
My street-cred elevator
A bit passive/aggressive
It pulses down the pipe
Maintains the smoke and mirrors
And elevates the hype.
Track Name: Pre-Sellout (Free Download)
I’ve got no vision, the product of which, upon consumption of, would improve your situation
I’m in no position, to prepare a bitch, ‘bout something I love, or despise with all my being
My oral incision’s healed and sealed with a stitch, sent me to the TV room where the cushion’s good for kickin’
But I’ve made a decision, to flip on a switch, see I’m in possession of, a stick that’s great for lickin’
I’m on a mission, it comes with a hitch, I’ve got nothing to say, but I’ve got a way to say it
If you don’t dig what I’m dishin’, the piss and the kitsch, you can call customer service and describe the glitch
I’ve got an admittance, I’ve shifted my pitch, how can I play the old way, when my dick’s in the ditch
Please throw me a pittance, so I can get rich, then I’ll bid good riddance to my hit lickin’ switch
I promise nothing, think you’ve found my niche? Well I still got bills to pay so I reserve the right,
to turn on a dime if one day overnight, something sub-prime gets cast out my way… I may bite…
Could be a beer commercial, Car commercial, free credit report, TV show theme… Who knows?