Brother, We Are Devils!

by This Glass Embrace

Brother, We Are Devils! cover art
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about

This Glass Embrace has always been a band with two faces. Their previous outing, 2008's monolithic concept album “A Ghost in the Photograph”, was woven from the twin strains of delicate acoustic pop and driving post-hardcore. With their follow-up, the band has decided to embrace this dichotomy with open arms.

“Brother, We Are Devils!” is a record split in two. The first half, led by the concise opener “Egypt”, is largely acoustic, melding confessional bedroom-pop with a touch of folk. From the upbeat “Somewhere With Seasons” to the quiet and unflinchingly honest “It All Cuts Both Ways, Now”, the lyrics trace a portrait of modern claustrophobia; the lures of wanderlust and the dull ache of those left behind.

In the second half, soft guitars and chiming keys give way to angular, guitar-driven rock. Questions of betrayal, love, and faith are sung and screamed over brooding indie rock as the three-piece band kicks into high gear. “The Apple of Discord” blends growling bass and furious drums with stabs of guitar and keyboard, giving way to a soaring chorus. The sprawling piano epic “The Footsteps Die Out For Ever” builds from a quiet prelude to end with a roar of layered guitars and vocals.

Together, these disparate sounds and myriad stories create a singular narrative, fueled by despair and an even deeper faith in something better.

credits

released 08 August 2011
Matthew LeFevers: vocals, guitars, percussion, keys.
Kennedy Rice: bass guitars, additional shouts.
Zack LeFevers: drums, screamed vocals.

Additional vocals by Jackie Roche.
All songs written by Matt LeFevers. Copyright 2011.

tags

tags: alternative emo indie indie rock post-hardcore punk acoustic rock indie pop Phoenix

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Track Name: Egypt
I spent the night sleeping backwards at the foot of my bed and rearranging the furniture again and again. It was better than nothing, but still just pretend. A place you're tired of can never be new.

I never thought I'd be anxious to just get away. It's been a year and a half since I last left the state. I've never been one for travel (that empty escape) but I find myself counting the days.

Count me out of your cheap superstitions... I'll leave that horoscope safely unread. If I believed half the things that those things said about me, I'd be too scared to get out of bed.
Track Name: Somewhere With Seasons
The house looks different now. The paint is new. The porch is gone. I craned my neck to search for the fort my father built in the backyard, but I can't see it anymore.

It's strange -- I still can't explain why I was so upset last night. As if I'm allowed to cut my ties... to make new friends and to move on... but when you do the same, it's wrong.

And I can't say that I blame you for making your escape, most of all because I can't say there aren't moments where I've thought about the same. The maps of all those intersecting freeways, and the towns to which they belong. The siren call of somewhere that has seasons. This summer's lasting months and months too long. But will you miss it when it's gone?

The words and phone numbers in my old yearbooks gather dust. Full of paragraphs I'm ashamed to read, as if they're not addressed to me. It almost feels like eavesdropping.
Track Name: Postage Paid
I heard your newest song. Don't worry, it's a good one. All your new ones are. I guess that I've stopped asking if any are about me. None of the new ones are. It's strange to hear your words now. You sing of people I've never known. I wonder if you'll hear this. If you'll take apart the lyrics, one by one. If you think this is about you... well, you're wrong.

The coffee is a crutch now. It's true, I guess. This is just me making it through today. I'm asking for your address -- the one that I keep losing. I guess I hope each time will be the last time that I need it. I keep hoping next time won't be out of state. I'm certain that you'll hear this. That you'll take apart the lyrics. You always do. I'm sorry if the things I say will hurt you. I'm sorry that they're true.

Well, this could go on all night. But the Greyhound station awaits. Will you call me when you get there?
Track Name: From Here On Out, You're On Your Own
In a parking lot littered with square safety-glass, I park the car, lock the doors, and let the driver's seat back. Shades over the windows. I can finally let myself cry. Pathetic, I know. Yeah, I couldn't agree more.

Your phone has been dead for who knows how long. It's been weeks, and I worry, but try to just play it off. I'm filling the hours with stories -- two chapters a week. I can sure as hell write, but hell if I can speak.

The mountains nearby are grown over with grass. I guess the rain has been good, but nothing ever lasts. We start walking, lose track, and wind up in a strange neighborhood where I fill up my camera with shots of the sky, and of indistinct figures in fading sunlight, but get home and the first thing I do is throw the pictures away.

And John says, "If reincarnation is true, I might at this point want out of the loop."

On a weather-worn table in the park down the road, my call finally gets through. I spend an hour on the phone, but say nothing at all that doesn't translate, "When are you coming home?"
Track Name: It All Cuts Both Ways, Now
I know nothing you said wasn't true. Believe it or not, I know it better than you. It's just tonight was no night for bad news. And there's a note on the door from someone else I've let down. There's just too damn much of that going around. It's not me. All of this. It's not me. And I swore I'd be different, I swore I would change. Well, sorry.

To that shy, brilliant child with glasses too big, smiling up at the grown-ups with his small, crooked teeth -- I'm so sorry. This is all you became. Enjoy your notebooks of stories and your near-perfect grades because both will dry up by your nineteenth birthday. You won't notice until it's too late to change.

Every last thing I've promised -- they've all fallen through. And you can say what you want, but I've failed you, too. Everyone that I've loved, I've let down. And later this month, I will turn twenty-two. I shouldn't feel scared, but God help me, I do. All that time. All those memories gone. All that time... and just what have I done?
Track Name: Chase the Horizon
You said, "If there is something that I miss more than those high school summers, I don't know what it is." And I believe you. (No I can't argue.) Convenience stores have never felt the same since then. But don't think of that. Because those summers are gone and gone and gone. And they're not coming back. So don't do this. (Please don't go.) Don't be another victim to the lure of distance. The lie that somewhere new can equal starting over, when a different town is just a different place in which to feel the same. ("It is futile, you can never--" "You lie," he cried, and ran on.)

It's not because we want to, it's because we have to. It's not because we want to, it's because we have to. It's not because we want to, it's because we have to. It's not as easy as they always made it seem.

You lie. You lie. You lie your head on mine. And as your voice is breaking, you whisper, "Just tell me that it will be okay..."

So sleep. Love, sleep. And wait for daybreak, wait for morning. So sleep. Love, sleep. Wait for morning. Wait for me. "Listen: it's not exactly what it seems. No, nothing's ever what it seems. Just please, don't ever not believe..."
Track Name: The Apple of Discord
If this is all there is, then count me out. It's headaches and caffeine. It's rationing of sleep. I'd trade an hour of these dreams for one more awake. I'd rather lose the rest than live through one more night of this.

But these red lights and stop signs are keeping me still for too long. There's too much time to think but not enough to get anything done.

Just kill the lights, and I'll count my losses. There's no point in anything anymore. If I can't take a breath, or make the slightest movement without disappointing everyone.

There's no comfort in this scripture... or at least not right away. Two dozen books go by before I even recognize Your face. Two thousand years of brimstone, and thirty more of perfect love... Sometimes I doubt Moses and Matthew really wrote of the same God. (But I'm more than certain which one's wrong.)

Please forgive me for my sins. O God, forgive me what I am.

So I say my prayers in secret. I whisper words behind closed doors. "Be merciful to me, a sinner!", said the tax collector to the Lord. When did Your church become so prideful? So quick to trade in love for hate? They're preaching Sodom and Gomorrah. They hate God's children in God's name... but have not a word to say of grace. ("Let he who is without sin be the first to cast his stone.")
Track Name: In So Many Words
This is the absolute last of my promises: I swear to you, I'm finished with this. I guess it started as sick curiosity, but by now it's just making me sick. I've locked the doors of the house, trading shots with myself. Inventing drinking games to help pass the time. Drink once for inertia. Twice for every broken promise. Three for every protracted goodbye. At this rate, I just might drink myself blind.

This is the absolute last of my promises: I swear to you, I'm finished with this. With these lists of suggestions of things I could change to help you stave off your own listlessness. It's a race to the finish. Take no losses, take no prisoners. You can't afford to give in this time. Before this cracked and broken canvas, lay a table of your implements. The bottles and the chemicals inside. To help make things right. I will let go tonight.

To you it seems like selfishness, this self-preserving reflex, but honestly, to me this is a conflict of interest. I'm no kind of coward, despite my various flaws. I just know when I can and when I can't beat the odds.

So take all your questions, your fucking meaningless games. You and them can go to Hell, or at least the hell away from me. So take your mixed signals and your infidelities. You see, I'm better off without you, but you were much better off with me.

This is a lesson in self-preservation. (The bow is drawn, make from the shaft.) You wounded an artist. What did you expect?
Track Name: Sleepers, Awake!
These moments frighten me the most. Is there anything more horrible than the notion of forever? The very ground a sick and sinking ship. The prayer You left behind You becomes a mantra on my lips. "Our Father, hallowed be Your name..." "Yours is the kingdom and the glory..." Could there be words more pure than this?

And when I lie, I speak my native tongue. But I am not my own. I'm not. I am a price that has been paid. I have been ransomed, I have been saved. Cut off the hand that makes me sin. Remove these thoughts, don't let me let them in. "You are a man of God, now act like it."

My very doubts fill me with doubt. Can a so-called man of faith be so afraid, and yet devout? But if Christ himself can beg You from the cross, asking, "My God, why have you forsaken me?", then all hope must not be lost for one like me. Oh Thomas, tell me please... what did you see?

But I am selfish, I am weak. I am a bruised and bitter seed. I am a poor reflection, an echo of Your love. I am brightness stained by dark. I harbor hate inside my heart. Then fingers crossed, I turn and ask You to forgive me.
Track Name: The Footsteps Die Out For Ever
I've lost track of time. I swear I've been walking for hours. Through streets lit by TV set windows, I was softly repeating your name. There is nothing to say. So say nothing. I guess that's the game that we're playing. Can it be that you still haven't called?

Where are you tonight? I've never felt more lost or lonely. I just wish that I felt more surprised. Oh, and for what it's worth, you were right. My timing is always the same. Always too far apart or too late.

There's a taste in my mouth that I can't seem to spit out or stomach. I'm afraid this is making me sick. There is nothing to say. So say nothing. Or were we doing that all along? Is there any such thing as a time before all of this started?

Don't call. If you're just calling late again, please just don't call.

And if I seem surprised, don't believe it. I've been practicing playing this part for longer than you know. Rehearsing these lines: "Yeah, I'll be okay." "I'll be fine." "Don't worry about me." And all the while breaking your heart with my casual surrender. And if this is the end, then so be it. This won't be the first or the last time I've written you off. (For you, no truce. No armistice will do. Tonight, you play for keeps... I play for sympathy.)

The wish that I made broke every star in the sky.