Platinum (2009)

by THUNDEREGG

/
  • Immediate download of 13-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

     

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
04:06
7.
03:27
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.

about

During its heyday between December 2007 and February 2008, the special Thunderegg Platinum fan club delivered secret download instructions for a series of originals and covers, all recorded at Thunderegg's then-headquarters in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn. Now all of that era's sessions have been mastered by our friend Carl Saff in Chicago and are collected for the first time as a single album. Originals include the pretty "Smoke Signals" and the sour-grapes anthem "Retarty," but Platinum's most shining moments may be on the covers: Greg Zinman (Sea Ray) turns Ronee Blakely's "Dues" into a shimmering, sprawling guitar epic, Josh Nelson (Rusticators) takes Bob Wills's "Bubbles in My Beer" on a smoldering banjo-uke ride, and John Prine's "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore" becomes a flat-out party (with requisite space-rock breakdown) thanks to Will's cousin Fletcher C. Johnson (the Fletcher Band, King Tuff, The Weight). Now an entirely free download.

credits

released 01 September 2009
See individual songs for composition credits. Recorded to a Tascam 424 at Manhattan Bridge Four-Track Operation, this time located at 136 Westminster Road, Brooklyn, December 2007 to February 2008, except for "The Voice," which was recorded there in March 2009, and "And We Were Happy," which was recorded on the porch of 180 Springdale Road, Princeton, NJ, in June 2007. Big thanks to Tom Colligan, Greg Zinman, Josh Nelson, and Fletcher Johnson. Mastered by Carl Saff at Saff Mastering, Chicago. Mosaic artwork by Krinkles.

tags

license

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist
Track Name: And We Were Happy
The sky was blue, the earth was green, the moon was new, and you were happy.

The night, you knew, could be a dream that swallows you, and you were happy.

I'll light the route wherever it leads, I'll follow you, and I'll be happy.

The sky was you, the earth was me, the moon was three, and we were happy.
Track Name: Smoke Signals
Everything that happened was a blur, but she definitely ran from the parking lot with a friend of hers. She left behind some matches and some nasty schnapps masking as classy pomegranate liqueur, and the ashes of some letters in an old can of cheddar cheese crackers she'd thrown to the birds.

And you remember addressing each and every envelope, sentimentally expressing what you believed were the most pressing confessions, and waiting for her to post back her affections, but you'll just have to interpret the smoke that might read like the words she never wrote, drifting up to the sky by the Sears, drifting higher and higher till it disappears.

You better watch out; there are so many noises out there. Sirens and pistols and evacuation whistles crying since the end of the affair. It didn't have to happen the way an assassin will relieve the room of its air. It could have unraveled gradual and left you believing that what you once had was still there.

And in the darkening parking lot, slowly the local kids show with their Goats and Darts and bottles of ammonia and throttles and racing hearts, and nobody notices you stand there and watch them run under and over the smoke, all that speed but they never really go. Doubling back when they get to the end, doubling back so they might try again.
Track Name: Retarty
Did you hear about their party, the one they told no one to tell me of—as if that even should alarm me, or send me crying to the telephone, that they were throwing this big soiree, inviting everybody else on earth, and they conveniently forgot me, so they can chuckle to themselves.

Don't give a fuck about their party, pushing nerds into the pool, mixing mojitos at the barbecue like it's still 2002. I'm not going to their party: Too many asses just like you, with telescopes aimed at the sorority, with dopey 'staches to outdo one another.

They should call it a retarty. Some place where they can take their helmets and listen to the Arctic Monkeys, and shoot their shooters and their Jell-O. Yeah, they should call it a retarty. Bacardi floaters get ignited—tomorrow morning they'll be sorry. I'm glad that I wasn't invited to their dumb retarty, their stupid fun retarty. I'm not going to their party because their sorry party sucks.
Track Name: Something Nice About People
In a bar in a hotel, he asked why there's no television, were they putting on airs? And the bartender told him nobody was holding a gun to the back of his chair. The man said to her, "Babe, I know some young people's names, and I would like to know yours." She said, "You don't look familiar, but you look like a billboard, of this I am fairly sure." He said, "I am deeply tanned like the Marlboro Man, or a luxuriant Coppertone body." She said, "Give me a hand with this case of cold lambic and I might pull your drawers like that doggie."

And I have stuck close to the facts, or at least something roughly their equal. And if it's not exact, it was something like that, you know, something nice about people.

She put up the stools at a quarter to two, and at two sharp locked up the keep. Then they sat in the lobby drinking all the free coffee while the highway just talked in its sleep. It seemed to live out all that they dreamed about, a freedom so fresh and so tender: The rush of a bus sounded like sweet escape, and a Ford Escape sounded like surrender. They stared into each other over a low table covered with leaflets about local attractions, and when they focused their glimpses, their lips were within inches, and they kissed as the morning shift vacuumed.

And I have stuck close to the facts, or at least something roughly their equal. And if it's not exact, it was something like that, you know, something nice about people.