Shit Week

by Shitty Weekend.

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    This is the debut LP from Shitty Weekend, Portland’s most smart-mouthed DIY shredders. The band shares several members with the Taxpayers, including frontdude Andrew Link, as well as PDX grindcore stalwarts Transient. Taxpayers fans will be happy to recognize some familiar goofpunx elements in “Shit Week”, including bouncy horn lines and plenty of folky arpeggios, but Shitty Weekend. doesn’t shy away from the nastier, thrashier end of the punk spectrum either. Songs like “Don’t Tell Me Don’t” and “Employee of the Month” channel the frantic hostility of ‘80s hardcore punk in furious bursts, self-destructing before the one-minute-mark as often as not. Andrew’s shrieking vocals expound on religion, government, dad rock, and 9-to-5 ambitions while distorted guitars screech and Noah wails on the drums like his life depends on it. The end result is melodic, aggressive, sarcastic, dissonant, sincere, and punk as fuck. No fucking flossing, punk rock or die.

    Featuring similarly punk as fuck cover art by Keith Rosson.

    This is a run of 500 LPs: 250 on randomly mixed colored vinyl and 250 on black. Random mix vinyl comes in a few variants and all of them legitimately look awesome. You get what you get! If you reeeaally like a certain color, leave a note in your order and we'll try to get you one.

    Includes immediate download of 12-track album in the high-quality format of your choice (MP3, FLAC, and more), plus unlimited mobile access using the free Bandcamp listening app. less
    ships out within 5 days

    Includes unlimited streaming of Shit Week via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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    ships out within 5 days

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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Awesome O card style colored cassette tapes on Shitty Weekend's debut full-length "Shit Week"!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Shit Week via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days

      $5 USD or more 

     

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credits

released March 8, 2014

Andrew Link – Vocals, Guitar, Piano, and Trumpet
Noah Phillips – Drums
Stefan Thompson – Guitar
Kirk Fatland – Bass
Rutger McKenna – Tenor Saxophone
Alex Bekuhrs – Baritone Saxophone

Recorded by Trevor Oatts, Jake Hinshaw, and Andrew Link
Artwork by Keith Rosson

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about

Shitty Weekend. Portland, Oregon

Shitty Weekend puts the tempo back in hiptempopotumas

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Contact Shitty Weekend.

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Track Name: Employee of the Month
I'm an ambitious twenty-something-year-old
I get my foot in the door for potential beneficial work opportunities
I am punctual and orderly
I know the rules of workplace safety

I got my name on the wall in the back room marked and dated with the month and the year
I go home after work and wipe the brown from sniffing the boss's rear
And nothing's going to stand in my way, oh no

Because I'm motherfucking employee of the motherfucking month.
Track Name: Lord and Only Saviour
When I was a kid I got religion shoved down my little throat
Coughed it up with demonic dry heaves; I was a spry ten years old
Tried to scare and scar me from made-up maladies that only Jesus could quell
Said I ought to watch my back or else I might rot in hell

But you ain't gonna save me, save me, oh no no
You ain't gonna save me, save me, oh no no
And no one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you but yourself

Back then I use to have the same nightmares most every night
Seized me up and made me scream all the horrors that I hid inside
My mind was a web but I was both the fly and spider that I so feared
Struggled but just got more tangled up fighting it after all of those years

But you ain't gonna save me, save me, oh no no
You ain't gonna save me, save me, oh no no
And no one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you but yourself

Sometimes I used to get this weird joy thinking I was gonna snap just like a rotten stick
Some simple demented pleasure keeping my feet on the ground when the metaphoric mud got too thick
They said I was a bad seed with my head in the gutter; I'd softly mutter incantations to raise the living hell
They weren't far from being right—I took a rusty knife and I put it through the savior's heart myself

No one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you
No one's gonna save you but yourself
Track Name: Don't Tell Me Don't
(Eat ROCKS, Mom and Dad!)

Don't tell me Don't
Because I won't
Don't tell me what to say
Don't tell me how to play

I'll break the bars of your cage
That are trying to hold my brain
You're driving me insane
Don't tell me what to do

Don't tell me what to do
Don't tell me what to do

Sometimes it feels like the opposition is just the same
I want a place where I don't need to point a finger of blame
I'm just trying to fit in without going nuts
Track Name: Crabcake
This is gonna be the weekend that we take this place by storm
Like gasoline and a packet of matches, tear down the stage like locusts—we just wanna swarm
And scream our little heads off so we can pass out for the night
To wake up in a pile of our own filth, down headache pills and coffee at noon, noonday light

Then the cops arrive saying Creedence Clearwater would be ashamed
That you kids have no respect and Marilyn Manson's still to blame
Back when I was a young man music use to have a message and a melody
Now all you kids do is blast that crap while decent people are trying to sleep

Now all the high school kids, they gotta go home
Now their whole fucking weekend’s blown
Twenty missed calls from their folks on their smartphones
And oh shit, they just missed the last bus headed their way
Track Name: Geneva
Well, I'm getting fucking sick of it
It's bad for business to be free
You know, I'm getting sick of it
Trade your rights for security
You know, I'm getting sick of it
They’re fucking people over every day
You know, I'm getting sick of it
We gotta stand up and say

We have to abandon this defeated helpless role
Quit counting on the government, we gotta question their control
Put our bodies on the gears and wipe this system clean
Instead of helping worthless scum with massive blindfolding

Singing it ain't me babe,
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe, oh no no
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe, oh no no
It ain't me they’re looking for

Oh, Geneva, where have you gone
Oh, sweet Geneva in the land that I love
You're not here, love, so where are you now
Oh, sweet Geneva, they've taken you down
To Cuba in the dark of the night
You're charged with suspicion of suspicion
They never read your rights
Have they no shame, are they human at all
At least it ain't you or me, babe, is that reason at all

It ain't me babe,
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe, oh no no
It ain't me they’re looking for, babe, oh no no
It ain't me they’re looking for
Track Name: Nothing Lasts Forever
Only I know.
Track Name: Smoke Weed Everyday
This is a song about rebellion
This is the fucking opus of a unique subculture
You got a lot of nerve showing your face around here
Not even ironically oblivious to this groundbreaking shit

No table manners
No bedtimes
No fucking flossing, punk rock or die

And we're gonna smoke weed every fucking day
We're gonna smoke weed every fucking day
We're gonna smoke weed every fucking day
We're gonna smoke weed every fucking day

And well, you got a lot of nerve showing your face around here
I bet you've never even read Steven Blush's American Hardcore
Track Name: Dogs Are Sick of Humans
Hop in this car, take it all the way down to the place where we fell into each other
Talk about something new, some old commotion, resurrecting the dead in one another
Let the past be blind and I'll divvy up what is mine and shake it off like nothing’s lost, like fucking John Wayne
The odds are bad, it's kind of funny watching them get worse
It's so rehearsed, these Hallmark Trademarked reactions
These Hallmark Trademarked reactions

It's four o'clock in the morning and I'm stumbling through your back door
Your dog is barking, doesn't remember my scent anymore
Why the hell would he, I'm a stranger in your house and it's fucking four in the morning
If I were him I'd be sick of hearing humans and their thought-out bullet-point conversations

Let's laugh it off, cut the cream from the top and save these emotions for christians and co-dependent suckers
And maybe in the end it'll turn out like the fucking movies, my friend, and we can fall right back into these Hallmark Trademarked reactions
These Hallmark Trademarked reactions
Track Name: Spit in my Eyes
No, I never cried at the part when little Bambi's momma died in the snow, died in the snow
No, I never bought candy hearts for nobody, no, nobody knows
It's just the way life goes, it's just the way life goes

You wouldn't know love if it spit in your eyes
Yeah, you wouldn't know if love spit in your eyes
You wouldn't know love if it spit in your eyes
Yeah, you wouldn't know if love spit in your eyes

Someone won't you please, won't you pity me, oh fuck it, oh no
Track Name: Gone Fishin
Push the limits
Find the crack in the prison cell
Seep through the concrete
Plant your feet against the swell

It's a cold, it's a cold, it's a cold and burning world
It's a cold, cold, cold, and burning world
It's a cold, cold, cold, and burning world
It's a cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold and burning world

Because I am weak, and a warm bed trumps the fight against authority
And I'll crawl back to my cell for a roof and something to eat
And they've got a hold on me
Track Name: Throw Me in the Mud
Throw me down in the mud
Kick my stomach in till I piss blood
Chew me whole all damn evening
Then light me on fire and we'll call it even

It's gonna take a lot more than physical pain to clear my name
And you're all saints for not 1, 2, 3 degree murdering me

Scream at me till you can't speak
Then burn down my house, stomp the final coals out
Tell my family and friends what I said about them when their backs were turned
Then maybe I'll learn

Not even moving to Antarctica would refrain
From all you fucking people stomping in my brains

And if you need a punching bag use me
I'll be Apollo Creed's great-grandchild
You'll be the indisputable champ of Rocky 23
You'll be the champ of Rocky 23
Track Name: Oh Dear
Get the fuck out of the house, goddamn those sad songs
Throw me off the ship that drives its suburban walls
Burn the mast, hit the gas, split the asphalt sea apart
These days I don't feel so reckless in the heart

These days I don't feel so reckless in the heart
These days I don't feel so reckless in the heart

She always gave everything that she had in her body
But her guts were full of liquor and her brain knew karate
And we'd lie in the dirt, disturb the peace and curse at the skies
These days we don't remember those kind of nights

These days we don't remember those kind of nights
These days we don't remember those kind of nights

And oh dear, how things have changed
Barfed up our youth down the societal drain
And oh dear, how things have changed
Hide away in the woodwork, hide away from the rain

And I wish our parents would let us stay home sick in our beds
So we could flush down the commitments, down the toilets in our heads
Revert to a time before a dime is how we counted our worth
But we're stuck here in the future chained up to the Earth

Yeah we're stuck here in the future chained up to the Earth