Jawkward

by Jawkward

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about

This is my début LP. I started recording it around November of 2011 and finished most of it by February but while waiting for a drum recording session ended up rewriting it a lot until it got to the point it's at today. I wrote it, composed it, recorded it, produced it, mixed it, and mastered it all by myself (with some friends on vocals, of course). I hope you like it.

credits

released August 2, 2012

All music and lyrics by Dan Parshall.

Dan Parshall: vocals, guitars, bass, pads/synths, piano
Zack Reinhardt: drums, backing vocals

Kacey Stewart: handclaps, backing vocals
Liz Barr, Cullan Bonilla, Will Colvin, Mary Henjes, Christine Holmes, Ian Roberts: backing vocals

tags

license

Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.

about

Jawkward Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Dan Parshall (guitar and vocals) and Zack Reinhardt (drums). Twinkle punk ranging from the goofy punk ragers to the melancholy crooners. What up.

contact / help

Contact Jawkward

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Track Name: Natalie Portmanteau
Why is it so hard for us to say,
"We are two human beings with feelings for each other?"
We rely on our friends to relay
all our stupid meanings to one another
What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I like you and hope you like me too.
And that's good enough for me.
That's good enough for me.

Please say you want to be with me;
that is all I want to hear.
I like your hair so much better now.
Short hair, don't care, uncovered ears
What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I like you and hope you like me too.
And that's good enough for me.
That's good enough for me.

So we are now strung together
Like a Natalie Portmanteau
What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I can't scream "I love you" so I'll have to say it softly for now.
Track Name: Fractions
We are but tiny fractions of the universe
but we are fractions yet
and I know it may seem frightening at first
but it's best not to fret
because we may not know why we're alive
but if there's any chance of figuring it out
we sure as hell won't do it by
killing ourselves.
Track Name: 10.0 Best New Music
Hey, stop me if you've heard this before.
Is it Cap'n Jazz or Pirouette?
Wait, tell me what's my Pitchfork score.
I'm hoping it's a 10.0 Best New Music.
Track Name: Bonesaw Is Ready
I can't tell my mother anything about myself
My music, tattoo, street art, sexuality, mental health
To the one who bore and raised me: call it stupid, call it crazy
But this has gone on far too long just to put it on the shelf

From the time of my first cigarette, I knew things were going south
Now only sly sarcastic quips just drip out of my mouth
I wanna scream I wanna yell but I've got secrets I can't tell
So I'll just hand her this tape on the day I'm moving out

I'm not perfect, but I try
Track Name: Chen
Chen! he doesn't use facebook
Chen! he plays a lot of Skryim
Chen! he didn't like Frankenstein
Chen! talked to a girl once

Chen! writes romantic letters
Chen! he fits together perfectly
Chen! successful arms around you
Chen! he comes onto Lea

What are you doing, don't do it
Solid
Track Name: Despite All My Rage I Am Still Just a Nicolas Cage
So I'm at this party, Saturday at Maddie's
Well, it's a sight to see these Nicolas Cage movies
He's going batshit in his movie Matchstick Men
You know I would never miss his role in Vampire's Kiss

It's always a pleasure watching National Treasure
Though it makes little sense why he's stealing documents
I've never felt sicker than when watching The Wicker Man
Nic's trying to fit in in a bear suit, punching women

So I'm at this party, Saturday at Maddie's
Well, it's a sight to see these Nicolas Cage movies
He's going batshit in his movie Matchstick Men
You know I would never miss his role in Vampire's Kiss

I'm a vampire, I'm a vampire
Track Name: Sailor Twift
It's been too many days since I last saw you
I ran away and I can't call you
I run from place to place to get you back
Since I strayed everything's looking black

I should have told you just to go home
I should have told you just to stay home

Tell me when you're going home again
Tell me if I'll ever see you again

I wish you'd say "please don't leave me"
But I'm leaving
Track Name: Missile Teigneux
We harmonize by chance, I have no hope of return
Our words hang in the air as our cigarettes burn
Staring deep in the orange glow, blowing out puffs of smoke
The clouds drift away slowly holding all that we spoke

So we walk back to your car and I kiss you goodnight
I wish there were something to stop me from seeing your taillights
No more staying up all night, I'll make no more mistakes
I'll be in bed by 11:10, I've got no more wishes to make

We harmonize by chance, my bass voice rattles the ground
You come in above me, it's a resonant sound
We are on the same wavelength, and now we oscillate
Hold you tight in the doorframe as we feel the earth quake

So everything's tumbling, there are cracks in the street
Our clothes come unraveled, we take shelter under sheets
Now I'm falling to pieces, it's all beginning to shake
I'll be in bed by 11:10, I've got no more wishes to make
Track Name: Baltz to the Waltz
I turned over and looked through the skylight of this unfamiliar bedroom. I could see dead trees through the glass, unfocused and harshly backlit like old family vacation photos. It took me a moment to remember where I was. There were many parts of the room I didn't see when I first stumbled in here a few hours before. My eyes made their way down to the girl sleeping softly by my side. She lay there, breathing quietly, tender and fragile. I sat in bed motionless and smiled softly, too afraid or too excited or just too content to disturb her.

Our eyes first met—well, first met in any significant sense—only 10 hours before as we sat in a circle playing some stupid drinking game, choking down shots on the tile floor. The host took his Jesus Christ Superstar record out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable (I must confess I was jealous of how nicely his table sounded. The cartridge in the table I had at home was starting to come loose and, with the slightest provocation, the needle would skip until I got up and moved it).

So we danced. And oh, how we danced to that music. We were full of holy spirits that descended into our stomachs in tongues of firewater.

Somewhere in the movements of our nubile bodies I perceived an acute sense of self-awareness. We were dancing carelessly, playing dumb drinking games, breaking glasses, and doing all sorts of dumb stunts. This was exactly the kind of high school party we scorned when held by popular kids. But it felt different—more meaningful—to us. This was our send-off to the final days of 2010.

I felt pretty good so far that evening. I had made enough significant glances and casual conversation to begin to think that I could possibly muster up enough courage to eventually approach her. But as I re-entered the room, I saw her face pressed up against another, lips locking messily.

I knew I she wasn't mine—I never bought into the possessive patriarchal crap long enough to ever get the concept of the doggone girl being mine ingrained in my mind—but that didn't stop my heart from sinking. I was dying to be him. I could've been a boy scout from all the knots I tied in my stomach.

So I wandered off into the piano room and tickled the ivories for a bit, drinking more out of obligation than out of any real desire. I sat amongst the comic drunk, the creative drunk, the touchy-feely drunk, and the drunk drunk, tinkering out what little I knew on the instrument. So, I thought, these are the characters we play. Was I the underdog, put down now, but building up the strength to come steal her back in the third act? Or was I just a loser, too scared to even try in the safe zone that is a drunken party? I certainly knew which one I felt like.

Somewhere in the chaos of the night she and I ended up on the back porch outside, our breath and smoke mingling in the cold December air. The backyard was smothered in a virgin blanket of snow, with only a spot of semi-frozen vomit just over the railing marring its perfect surface. In the ice age we spent on that porch, the closest our lips ended up was on the bubbler and cigarillo we shared between us.

The next few minutes blurred by, spinning slowly like the empty bottle in the game we knew we were too old for but played anyway out of tribute or irony or for some lost sense of missed opportunities. I knelt on the ground there, silently praying to the gods of physics for some coefficient of friction that would grant me the closure I needed before I could end my night. And I got it.

We exchanged the customary faux-bashful looks before meeting lips. Her breath was warm and comforting. The sweetness of the flavored cigarillo and the sting of alcohol meshed into one calming aroma. I was kicking myself for not manning up and approaching her earlier, but that soon subsided into a sense of contentment. It didn't matter what I hadn't done all those hours earlier, but only what I was doing now. And now we were in the hallway, against the wall, together.

We were pressed against that wall for an eternity, held together in the most earnest display of messy teenage feelings, animal in the simplicity of its desire, but so tenderly human. I didn't care about the gawking or the catcalls around me. For that one moment, we were alone. For that one moment, I had nothing to prove.

She was still sleeping to the right of me by the time I woke up. I wanted more than anything to put my arms around her and just sleep, but my courage had silently left with the night. Only the dull sting of morning awkwardness greeted me now. Eventually, she rose and fixed herself up without making eye contact.

I knew it was over. I knew it hadn't meant anything in the first place. But I liked it that way—the way our desperate, youthful vigor enchanted all of our actions with a fleeting significance before returning them to pumpkins of juvenile hedonism in the morning. But as much as I loved our destructive cycle, it still left me feeling kind of empty. Accepting, but empty. So I sat there with a pit in my stomach and I watched her walk to the door. She turned the knob, paused, and turned her head and met my eyes with a knowing smile. A glass slipper.
Track Name: Natalie Portmanteau (acoustic)
Why is it so hard for us to say,
"We are two human beings with feelings for each other?"
We rely on our friends to relay
all our stupid meanings to one another
What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I like you and hope you like me too.
And that's good enough for me.
That's good enough for me.

Please say you want to be with me;
that is all I want to hear.
I like your hair so much better now.
Short hair, don't care, uncovered ears
What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I like you and hope you like me too.
And that's good enough for me.
That's good enough for me.

So we are now strung together
Like a Natalie Portmanteau

What's the worst thing that can happen
from being honest with ourselves?
I can't scream "I love you" so I'll have to say it softly for now.
Track Name: Fractions (acoustic)
We are but tiny fractions of the universe
but we are fractions yet
and I know it may seem frightening at first
but it's best not to fret
because we may not know why we're alive
but if there's any chance of figuring it out
we sure as hell won't do it by
killing ourselves.
Track Name: 10.0 Best New Music (acoustic)
Hey, stop me if you've heard this before.
Is it Cap'n Jazz or Pirouette?
Wait, tell me what's my Pitchfork score.
I'm hoping it's a 10.0 Best New Music.
Track Name: Bonesaw Is Ready (acoustic)
I can't tell my mother anything about myself
My music, tattoo, street art, sexuality, mental health
To the one who bore and raised me: call it stupid, call it crazy
But this has gone on far too long just to put it on the shelf
-
From the time of my first cigarette, I knew things were going south
Now only sly sarcastic quips just drip out of my mouth
I wanna scream I wanna yell but I've got secrets I can't tell
So I'll just hand her this tape on the day I'm moving out
-
I'm not perfect, but I try
Track Name: Chen (acoustic)
Chen! he doesn't use facebook
Chen! he plays a lot of Skryim
Chen! he didn't like frankenstein
Chen! talked to a girl once

Chen! writes romantic letters
Chen! he fits together perfectly
Chen! successful arms around you
Chen! he comes onto Lea

What are you doing, don't do it
Solid
Track Name: Dank-ass Nuggies (acoustic)
Dank-ass nuggies, dank-ass nuggies, dank-ass nuggies, dank-ass nuggies
Dank-ass headies, dank-ass middies, dank-ass cookies, dank-ass brownies
Dank-ass bowls, dank-ass bubblers, dank-ass bongs, dank-ass vapes
Dank-ass lightbulbs, dank-ass bottles, dank-ass spliffs, dank-ass blunts
Dank-ass firecrackers, dank-ass kief, dank-ass resin, dank-ass hashish
Dank-ass silver haze, dank-ass sour candy, dank-ass blue dream, dank-ass OG
Dank-ass black widow, dank-ass agent orange, dank-ass mango, dank-ass harlequin
Dank-ass lemon, dank-ass citrol, dank-ass orange bud, dank-ass skunk
Dank-ass northern lights, dank-ass honeymoon, dank-ass stonehedge, dank-ass phazer
Track Name: Despite All My Rage I Am Still Just a Nicolas Cage (acoustic)
So I'm at this party, Saturday at Maddie's
Well, it's a sight to see these Nicolas Cage movies
He's going batshit in his movie Matchstick Men
You know I would never miss his role in Vampire's Kiss

It's always a pleasure watching National Treasure
Though it makes little sense why he's stealing documents
I've never felt sicker than when watching The Wicker Man
Nic's trying to fit in in a bear suit, punching women

So I'm at this party, Saturday at Maddie's
Well, it's a sight to see these Nicolas Cage movies
He's going batshit in his movie Matchstick Men
You know I would never miss his role in Vampire's Kiss

I'm a vampire, I'm a vampire
Track Name: Sailor Twift (acoustic)
It's been too many days since I last saw you
I ran away and I can't call you
I run from place to place to get you back
Since I strayed everything's looking black

I should have told you just to go home
I should have told you just to stay home

Tell me when you're going home again
Tell me if I'll ever see you again

I wish you'd say "please don't leave me".
But I'm leaving
Track Name: Missile Teigneux (acoustic)
We harmonize by chance, I have no hope of return
Our words hang in the air as our cigarettes burn
Staring deep in the orange glow, blowing out puffs of smoke
The clouds drift away slowly holding all that we spoke

So we walk back to your car and I kiss you goodnight
I wish there were something to stop me from seeing your taillights
No more staying up all night, I'll make no more mistakes
I'll be in bed by 11:10, I've got no more wishes to make

We harmonize by chance, my bass voice rattles the ground
You come in above me, it's a resonant sound
We are on the same wavelength, and now we oscillate
Hold you tight in the doorframe as we feel the earth quake

So everything's tumbling, there are cracks in the street
Our clothes come unraveled, we take shelter under sheets
Now I'm falling to pieces, it's all beginning to shake
I'll be in bed by 11:10, I've got no more wishes to make
Track Name: Baltz to the Waltz (acoustic)
I turned over and looked through the skylight of this unfamiliar bedroom. I could see dead trees through the glass, unfocused and harshly backlit like old family vacation photos. It took me a moment to remember where I was. There were many parts of the room I didn't see when I first stumbled in here a few hours before. My eyes made their way down to the girl sleeping softly by my side. She lay there, breathing quietly, tender and fragile. I sat in bed motionless and smiled softly, too afraid or too excited or just too content to disturb her.

Our eyes first met -- well, first met in any significant sense -- only 10 hours before as we sat in a circle playing some stupid drinking game, choking down shots on the tile floor. The host took his Jesus Christ Superstar record out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable (I must confess I was jealous of how nicely his table sounded. The cartridge in the table I had at home was starting to come loose and, with the slightest provocation, the needle would skip until I got up and moved it).
So we danced. And oh, how we danced to that music. We were full of holy spirits that descended into our stomachs in tongues of firewater.

Somewhere in the movements of our nubile bodies I perceived an acute sense of self-awareness. We were dancing carelessly, playing dumb drinking games, breaking glasses, and doing all sorts of dumb stunts. This was exactly the kind of high school party we scorned when held by popular kids. But it felt different -- more meaningful -- to us. This was our send-off to the final days of 2010.

I felt pretty good so far that evening. I had made enough significant glances and casual conversation to begin to think that I could possibly muster up enough courage to eventually approach her. But as I re-entered the room, I saw her face pressed up against another, lips locking messily.

I knew I she wasn't mine -- I never bought into the possessive patriarchal crap long enough to ever get the concept of the doggone girl being mine ingrained in my mind -- but that didn't stop my heart from sinking. I was dying to be him. I could've been a boy scout from all the knots I tied in my stomach.

So I wandered off into the piano room and tickled the ivories for a bit, drinking more out of obligation than out of any real desire. I sat amongst the comic drunk, the creative drunk, the touchy-feely drunk, and the drunk drunk, tinkering out what little I knew on the instrument. So, I thought, these are the characters we play. Was I the underdog, put down now, but building up the strength to come steal her back in the third act? Or was I just a loser, too scared to even try in the safe zone that is a drunken party? I certainly knew which one I felt like.

Somewhere in the chaos of the night she and I ended up on the back porch outside, our breath and smoke mingling in the cold December air. The backyard was smothered in a virgin blanket of snow, with only a spot of semi-frozen vomit just over the railing marring its perfect surface. In the ice age we spent on that porch, the closest our lips ended up was on the bubbler and cigarillo we shared between us.

The next few minutes blurred by, spinning slowly like the empty bottle in the game we knew we were too old for but played anyway out of tribute or irony or for some lost sense of missed opportunities. I knelt on the ground there, silently praying to the gods of physics for some coefficient of friction that would grant me the closure I needed before I could end my night. And I got it.

We exchanged the customary faux-bashful looks before meeting lips. Her breath was warm and comforting. The sweetness of the flavored cigarillo and the sting of alcohol meshed into one calming aroma. I was kicking myself for not manning up and approaching her earlier, but that soon subsided into a sense of contentment. It didn't matter what I hadn't done all those hours earlier, but only what I was doing now. And now we were in the hallway, against the wall, together.

We were pressed against that wall for an eternity, held together in the most earnest display of messy teenage feelings, animal in the simplicity of its desire, but so tenderly human. I didn't care about the gawking or the catcalls around me. For that one moment, we were alone. For that one moment, I had nothing to prove.

She was still sleeping to the right of me by the time I woke up. I wanted more than anything to put my arms around her and just sleep, but my courage had silently left with the night. Only the dull sting of morning awkwardness greeted me now. Eventually, she rose and fixed herself up without making eye contact.

I knew it was over. I knew it hadn't meant anything in the first place. But I liked it that way -- the way our desperate, youthful vigor enchanted all of our actions with a fleeting significance before returning them to pumpkins of juvenile hedonism in the morning. But as much as I loved our destructive cycle, it still left me feeling kind of empty. Accepting, but empty. So I sat there with a pit in my stomach and I watched her walk to the door. She turned the knob, paused, and turned her head and met my eyes with a knowing smile. A glass slipper.