Painful Reminder | One Way Ticket: Songs To Slit Your Wrists By

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Folk: Angry Rock: Acoustic Moods: Mood: Brooding
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One Way Ticket: Songs To Slit Your Wrists By

by Painful Reminder

Bitter, manic-depressive folk rock.
Genre: Folk: Angry
Release Date: 

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  Song Share Time Download
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1. Happy Birthday
2:21 $0.99
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2. On the Road to Hell
5:40 $0.99
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3. Self-fulfilling Prophets
3:42 $0.99
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4. Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind
4:48 $0.99
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5. Fucking and Crying
4:23 $0.99
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6. Cosmo Girl
3:49 $0.99
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7. What You Do Not Understand
5:06 $0.99
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8. Indiana
5:38 $0.99
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9. Smash
1:22 $0.99
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10. Growing to Hate
7:35 $0.99
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11. No More
6:12 $0.99
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12. I Only Wanted You for Sex
3:47 $0.99
Downloads are available as MP3-320 files.

ABOUT THIS ALBUM


Album Notes
Painful Reminder's music has been described as "what happens when folk singers go bad". The combination of acoustic guitar and soulful lyrics hail back to folk rock, but with a more progressive feel, darkly realistic subject matter, and pounding chorus lines. The songs range from the entertainingly lively and bitter to the bleak and subdued.

"One Way Ticket: Songs to Slit Your Wrists By" is now a collector's item, available only in digital format. (We ran out of spray paint for the tops of the CDs.) More polished versions of almost every track are found on the later release, "World of Filth and Sin", as well as far more premium liner notes.

In 1997, Ben performed at a party, ending with "I Only Wanted You For Sex", a song he wrote on impulse one day using some of the few chords he'd ever taught himself. He broke a string on a guitar that didn't even belong to him (you can hear it on the recording, right at the end), but received spectacular crowd response. Paul was recording the show, and released "Sex" as an mp3 which then proceeded to travel over the internet far and wide, across the Georgia Tech campus and beyond. (We still sometimes hear about our songs making their way to college campuses quite far from our alma mater.) It became a regular occurrence for Ben to run into people around campus who said, "Oh, you're the guy who did that song!" So he kept writing them, Paul started playing bass with him, and after recording a few more songs we had an mp3.com page that attracted a fair bit of traffic.

We began to receive unsolicited requests to play parties and festivals, sheerly by word-of-mouth. Among them was a show at Under The Couch (which every good Georgia Tech band should play), and then in Christmas of 2001 we recorded an album in the student-run studio there. Paul had been engineering live sound for the various hardcore bands that would come through (including Poison The Well, Stretch Armstrong, Bane, and Death By Stereo), had produced a studio recording or two for local musicians, and felt ready to record an album even if it meant kicking his then-roommate Ben out of bed (a place chronically-depressed people tend to be loath to depart) once a day faithfully to rehearse with Omar Wooten, a talented drummer and nuclear engineer who has since departed us to go finish his thesis playing with radioactive things at Los Alamos Laboratories. We rehearsed four hours a day for the first week of Christmas break, then spent about three interminably long days in the studio recording it all. We went home for our token family appearances on Christmas day, then Paul was back in the studio perfecting the bass lines and mixing it all down.

Even when the master was finished, the CD's release date was pushed back again and again because of the insane trials of attempting to print the liner notes ourselves. We figured anyone who buys a CD in the age of free filesharing is really paying for the packaging, but we didn't want to get burned dumping a huge investment into a large commercial press run. After a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and assistance from Jonathan "Atari" Chaffin at Schlock Horror Design, we had a slick-looking package, including black-bottomed CD-Rs burned on our home computers and then spray-painted black on top (without even screwing up anyone's slot-feed CD players -- and believe me, it would have happened by now if it were going to happen), and eventually, files for the liner notes that even the morons at Kinko's could manage to print without screwing it up too many times. All we had to do was painstakingly cut them out of the paper by hand with a razor blade, fold them with loving care, disassemble each jewel case, and put everything in. It's about as DIY as you can get.

After selling more than 80 of these (again, sheerly by word-of-mouth -- there never was a CD release party), we finally graduated, each saw what a joke the career of a "computer scientist" could be, and in the summer of 2004 ran into a solid drummer who could pick up Omar's sticks and run: Philip, who spends his days waiting tables when he really wants to beat on things. We re-formed, made some more CDs, put a press kit together, and decided to see what happens if we play real gigs for a change. We were packing houses pretty consistently for about half a dozen gigs. Then Ben moved away to Iowa City, and that's that until a new lineup can be put together.

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Reviews


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Duncan Brennan

As gentle and subtle as a buttstoke to the head.
No sugarcoating needed here, The name says it all. All the pain and venom associated with getting shit on and throwing it back. I can see some of these songs getting spread through my unit in Iraq.

The music has a handcrafted malice that is almost universal. I can't say enough good about this album. If you have a happy-shiny view of the world, this may not be the best album for your virgin ears. If you've lived, loved, and been hurt, these are your anthems.
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Jonathan Chaffin

What happens when folksingers go bad is excellent.
This cd is well mastered and concieved. The songs flow artfully from one to the next. Painful Reminder is lyrically complex and the songs are diverse; haunting and melancholy then manic and depressed by turns.
"On the Road to Hell", "Cosmo Girl", "No More", and "I only wanted you for sex" are true gems of anti-folk.
A good listen for an evening alone, when you feel very very alone.
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Will Moss

This is music that will stick with you forever.
I was going to write a review about how awesome the live show was, but I see I am limited to the CD. Very well...

Like old Metallica, the Eagles, Led Zeppelin, or whatever punk band you love because they knew exactly how to capture the mood you were in and keep you going on whatever day was your personal Worst-On-Record, this is music that, once you hear it, will stick with you forever. This gets in your ear and snakes it's way down to that jagged hole in your heart left by an Ex who didn't have one, and makes a comfortable home in there. Despite the painful reminder for which the band is named, being able to sing along with a guy who pretends to understand somehow makes you feel better about getting out of bed. If you've got a hurt, they've either put it to music, or it's on their "to-do" list.
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Charlie Oskob Ramsey

Astounding
Best possible music I have ever listened to. It is simply astounding. I thank you for it.
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DV

Made me Cry
When I first started listening to One Way Ticket, my girlfriend had recently left me. She felt I wasn't supportive enough in her fight against lung cancer, since I refused to stop smoking marijuana indoors while she was at home. Normally this would only have upset me some, however my 4 month old kitten had also recently been brutally slaughtered by my terrier, Meat. This was especially depressing since I had to clean the blood and fecal stains (she was ripped open) off the carpet on my birthday, which my tumor-ridden girlfriend and all of my coworkers at the Wal-Mart had forgotten about. I only had just finished cleaning it up when she came at me with a hot iron, screaming how I'd never satisfied her sexually and she was going to castrate me somehow with it.

It was then that I put in One Way Ticket, and incidentally also the same night I learned to drink whiskey from the bottle. There is no other way to listen to this album aside from mainlining heroin and feeling the lining of your esophogous burning right off. I can honestly say I've never been moved by an album to slice through my own genetalia with a razor like that before, though as soon as I was finished I knew I had to have more. By the second time through I was opiated and bleeding profusely enough that I did see the last Egyptian Pharoh, who told me that I must kill. This alone was worth the cost of the album.
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Macavity

Reminds me of High School
Anger and spite at a shallow world, mixed with the tears of despair and distilled in a hollow loneliness delivered in a unfathomable but familiar vessel.
Painful lyrics are as poetic as they are fuligin.
This is the album you've always wanted to play at pep rally. These are the words that you wish you could say to the moral busybodies and would-be Mother Teresas.
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