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Crow Squawk | Existentialism Run Amok

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United States - California

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Rock: Experimental Rock Pop: Pop Underground Moods: Mood: Quirky
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Existentialism Run Amok

by Crow Squawk

A group of sexy insomniac witches get up and dance as the diamond-like rock kicks up a notch, all agree, cages are ugly, return to the wildest.
Genre: Rock: Experimental Rock
Release Date: 

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  Song Share Time Download
1. Existentialism Run Amok
3:22 $0.99
2. The Cages Are Ugly
3:32 $0.99
3. Hey Now
4:28 $0.99
4. Paper Scissors and Rock
2:48 $0.99
5. Pretty Comanches
3:10 $0.99
6. For a Minute
4:17 $0.99
7. Drunk Afternoon Dog
3:05 $0.99
8. Wounded Flock
3:33 $0.99
9. Elevation
3:04 $0.99
Downloads are available as MP3-320 files.


Album Notes
A blend of affected machine music and 3 multi-instrumentalists walk into a bar, the bartender looks at them and says, I bet y'all play music! Drinks are on the house if you play music, get on up there and trip us out! Affected machine music looks at the 3 multi-instrumentalists, they nod and head to the stage. Bartender, a bottle of red wine and 3 glasses if you please. Affected machine music and the 3 multi-instrumentalists kick into Existentialism Run Amok, one of the drooped over drunks at the bar lifts his head as the 3 sing the twisted story, hey! I know this song! The drunk cries out in a heavy french accent. Isn't that Jean Paul Sartre at the bar? One of the multi-instrumentalists asks, the band laughs... and pigeons, signing a petition to be freed from.... A group of sexy insomniac witches get up and dance as the diamond-like rock kicks up a notch, all agree, cages are ugly, return to the wildest. I am a FAT bass! Affected machine music seems to say as she throbs and bobs, spawn of heretics, the creatures are lively. Hey now! It happens every time, someone is brought to tears, drunks are particularly susceptible, time is funny, welcome home, always. Smiles and nods as the newly phrased age-old message resonates, sultry paper, scissors and rock is how we should fight. A couple dances and makes out in the shadows, camera zooms in, the pretty comanches decked up in color stop kissing and look at the intruding eye, sorry for staring, it's alright! Then a fist fight breaks out, the drunken poet against the destitute lout, for fucks sake! Didn't you hear the band telling you how to fight? The bartender kicks them both out. Perfectly happy for a minute, flights so fancy above the ridge. You boys and electric lady is OK, ready for a fine Pinot Noir from your lovely California? You bet! The bartender brings it over along with a healthy tip jar, salud! What are you boys and machine called? Crow Squawk. Ha ha, Crow Squawk, I like it! Another round! Ah conversations, so hazy, elephants fly in the friendly room barks drunk afternoon dog... can't really make out who is playing what, but affected machine music and the 3 multi-instrumentalists squawk soul man! The grumpy music critic admits out loud, a strange crow soul with 21st century electronic folk, música sabrosa! Music to lure the wounded flock? His friend asks. Yeah man, a beat to free through incisions, African horn cure, a picture of the brightest future, an elevated future where little alien fairies are the size of Everest, all speech augmented, morphing into a jazz buzz at the end.



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