It was the summer of two thousand and four. After an arduous year of living in cramped quarters, our time in our one bedroom apartment was nearing an end. We began the search for a new place to continue the madness we called our lives. Our two roommates were lucky enough to stumble upon a house located a few miles deeper into the swamps of South Jersey. It was an old, abandoned ice cream parlor with an apartment attached to the back. We checked it out: dilapidated, overgrown with weeds, and so close to a stretch of busy highway, so that there always lay the risk of cars and trucks to go careening off the road, destroying the structure and any of its inhabitants. This was to be our new home.
Once we were settled into our new surroundings the writing process began. Around January of two thousand five we started to focus on our next release. We talked about how we wanted the next album to accomplish all things we were unable to do in the past. Although we were content with our past recordings, we always felt more could have been done and we wanted to make sure that dull sting of doubt would not be felt quite so much this time. The idea was brought up to record the album ourselves. We thoroughly reviewed our finances. Of course by that, it must be understood our “finances” consisted of pooled money coming from each persons’ paychecks working mundane jobs. It was, and in many ways still is, an endless cycle of working to get money to play music, in order to cope with the menial jobs needed to be held down to support ourselves and our vice. In our own true fashion, we went head first into a metaphorical plate of glass. We had nothing more than a hope of a soft landing. From there on out we turned the store front area of our home into our own personal recording space. Walls were erected, windows were boarded up, and the room was completely gutted out. Every cent we were collectively making was put right into this project. It was beginning to come together.
As people began to find out, help was being offered from all over. All of our friends pitched in, providing us with borrowed equipment and much needed advice on the best way to handle certain tasks. A friend of a friend was able to arrange a great opportunity for us to accomplish post-production with an experienced engineer at a great facility. A long time acquaintance was also able to provide us with the majority of the necessary equipment for an extremely reasonable price. It came at a great time too, because at this point our house, along with its occupants, began to suffer a great deal. Our gas had been turned off leaving us with no hot water, heat, or any means to cook food. It was an ugly, hopeless, and oddly enough, at times, affirming symphony to be heard. The squeal of rats and the skittish high pitched drone of the fridge motor would accompany the road construction and thunderous rattle of the trucks passing by. Times seemed to be getting tough. We were figuratively and literally hungry. Before we knew it June rolled around and we began tracking. Long days and even longer nights followed. We yelled, screamed, sweated, barely slept, barely ate, and regrettably caused some property damage for a few months, leaving us with what you hold in your hands today.
Like everything else, all good things come to end. The house where we spent the past year living, writing, and recording this album is set to be torn down, but we are left with these songs as a solid memory of our time spent there. It was in the truest sense a group effort. This is the product of our friends, families, acquaintances, eccentric tattoo artists, random waitresses, convenient store clerks, and just about everything and everyone else used as inspiration. Though we wouldn’t admit it then, some of the best times we’ve had was in Malaga.
released January 17, 2006
Break Away is:
Joseph Boldizar - Drums, Percussion
Barry Knob - Guitars, Vocals, Keyboards
Joseph Pulito - Bass, Vocals
Mac - Vocals, Guitar, Pianos
Sean Hur - Organ, Keyboards
Elyse Mitchell - Cello
Dave Rossi - Percussion
All song written, recorded, and produced by Break Away.
Mixed by Jesse Baccus at Trax East Studios.
Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Studios.
It’s been a while since I wrote, or opened this dusty notebook to write down anything. I came across these lyrics I held dear some years before. I recognize the melody but it doesn’t sound the same to me. The music hardly sounds the same. Its ok, I won’t change. At least that’s what I thought in those days. How can you aspire to be the uninspired? The music all sounds the same. Its ok, they’ve all changed. I miss my innocence. I miss the way that I was. I miss not knowing enough. Who put you up to this?
Track Name: Nice Place To Visit
Days since I’ve been home. On top of weeks and months spent on my own. My smile’s weak and insincere. With a vacant expression, a voice that no one hears. I’m going home, but not my own. This was someone’s years ago, when I was afraid, alone. Some days I couldn’t look myself in the mirror. Why can’t they see? They should have known, this isn’t me. Home is where the heart is, nailed bleeding to the bedroom wall. It’s a pretty picture now, one that’s framed in all my faults. Dismiss my ignorance. I swear these things will change, no matter what you say they’ll change. Come to think of it these streets, these signs are very nice, but they’re not mine. I’m sorry I’ve not been myself.
Track Name: Grey Keys
When I was just a young boy, just a lad upon your knee. I would ask the questions, and you’d always answer me. I’d ask you why is the sky blue, tell me who do I turn to. When it’s shattered and fallen, tell me who do I call then. Would it be you. When I was a young man, just the age of eighteen. I would ask the questions, you couldn’t always answer me. I’d ask you why are they so cold, and their backs turn as easily. The friends that I love so, have become my worst enemies. The home that I once knew, is now the ride to look forward to. So I smile and say, and I sing this melody the whole way. I know that life is just a game and everybody’s keeping score. I thought I made my way the best I can, I can ask for nothing more. I thought I’d learned a thing or two in this world, how could I be sure. I’m sorry I’ve not been myself these days. I never felt like this before. These past few months have been such hell. Walking this tight line, I spent my whole life, preparing for the end. I’ve spent my whole life, wishing for the end.
Track Name: A Reason To Wake Up
Aim low you’ll never be let down. Take this priceless advice until you’re deep in the ground. With a half empty glass from the fountain of youth, even spiked with denial it can’t shade the truth. Tally up your scapegoats and regrets, but don’t get upset. It’s one more year that you think that you’re close to death. That’s one more year that’s gone, and one more wasted song. On ears that don’t even care, and eyes that blankly stare. Lies to yourself can’t chase down this shot of fear. They’re settling down now, standing in line to accept their fate. I’m melting down now, don’t give up this game when you could have it made. All I want is a reason to wake up.
Track Name: How To Tell If Your Ribs Are Broken
Look at the victims on the street. Selling their whole lives work to barely make ends meet. Look at the track marks on his sleeves. Each one can tell you just exactly where he’s been. It’s all who you know, who runs the show. Who can get the most exposure while we fool ourselves in thinking we deserve. It’s so hard. I walk these streets, I got money smoke, but not enough to eat. My clothes are dirty now. I’m trying to figure out just what I need, but its hard when you can’t remember your own dreams. I was happy once before. I can’t remember when, drink a beer and smoke a cigarette, and try to go to sleep. A natural remedy, I’ll try I will, to have the best dreams. But it’s so hard living with myself. Jump through the hoops, do as they say. You’ve taken it too far this time, they’re probably right anyway, I’ll try I will, to make this better, than I ever could have dreamt. Does anyone know as well as I do, nothing’s going to change. I don’t need this and I didn’t ask for this. Everyone is getting me down, nothings going to change. I don’t need them, and I didn’t ask for friends.
Track Name: Hurry Up And Die!
Atop the ladder they’ve designed, it’s impossible to climb. When you’re chained up to the wall, and you’re staring up in awe. You shudder in fear at the black parade held every year. There’s no misery, there’s no mystery here. Where are the protest songs? Where are the million strong? In my day we had the cause to fight it, or I’d like to think I might have belonged to something more. I felt the fear, I’ve done the drugs, I’ve read the books, but it’s not clear. Did anyone notice this is music for the rebellion, when we need a revolution that we can be proud of. Don’t ask why, hurry up and die. You’ve found you never had the choice. No price was paid for your stolen voice. Your conscience lifts you from the ground, the sad truth knocks you right back down. You shudder in fear, your rebel soul has disappeared. It’s no mystery, you’re so miserable here. More than what I see, more than what I’ve seen. I’ll show you dirty. I’ll show you numbness I’ll show you no feeling at all.
Track Name: Oh…The Things I’ve Done
I tried to write the perfect song, but I realized that there is no such thing in this world
Track Name: You’re Not Responding
Lined up in a row, shoving poison down their hopeless throats. No longer sixteen year old kids. Lethargic, your actions are so delayed. You feel discarded, this dog is on its last leg. Pay the tab with your soul, your final call’s been rung out several years ago. You just sit and sip and try to imagine, what this is doing to your health. Remember me when you take one more for the road and your insides start to decompose. Can you feel it rushing up your throat? Do you remember what you said to me, you told me you would be the first to leave. Do you remember me, do you remember anything. I slowly sip a glass of flat beer. I started to think, I started to drink. When did you resemble everything that I hate. It’s not in the words you say it’s all in your tone. Don’t make me repeat myself. It’s been last call years ago. I’ll remember you, when I’m laying on the street. You’re not responding, your eyes have rolled back in your skull. It’s funny think, how you’ve developed this condition. I swear it all makes sense now that I’m not there, and the last four years, culminate my fears. And to my so called friends, I hope I never see your faces ever again. To my oldest friend, I’ve not forgotten you yet.