by Zanois

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Comes in hand-assembled digipak with a little staple book full of lyrics and useful tips against bears. Silk-screened CD and probably a piece of inadvertent hair in every few.

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    Also handmade from one of a few stencils. Rainbow on white shirt or mystery brick on black shirt.

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Come back to me strawberry popsicle, transparent soccer goal Please come back a little more While I chanted I took for granted all the world Come back to me, minor obstacle, back to me now It fades into oblivion: the bark mulch smell, the pudding taste I break old legos out to make all new memories, but they have been replaced Come back to me, I sucked my blanket dry and jacked coolly, snacked ‘til I cried New art’s not cutting, go back to the crackers all night Please come back and then don’t leave I’ll feel weightless then with nothing to achieve Come back to me, act foolish, or get sick and you’ll treat me nice Back to me now And it fades into oblivion I knew so well my Webelo ways I break old play dough out to shape mama mammary, who stales and then gently breaks Conflicted entomologists who drink their meals will take a piss and yellow white to gain black stripes If I could numb the expectation, but keep in tact anticipation, maybe I would once feel right Come back to me
Jon 01:54
I dreamt that you were pregnant, and you weren’t the only one sick. Michi gave me a ‘hey kiddo’ on the shoulder, but I didn’t need it; I felt the health that only death can bring. And even though they call you pixie, I’m a fixie. You can’t fix me, get out. Dreams make excuses, so I don’t have to tell lies. I was jumping just to see someone else paralyzed.
Oh, the places you’ll go, the things you’ll do. Ooh. I don’t want to believe it’s coming true. Can’t stomach belief in rotten food, and like a fruit The sweet can’t beat the bruise. Distracted for a day: some horror scares away the fear that I’m biding my time, piss-poor rhyming. cause pondering the why of it’s hard with the how on your mind. But I can’t blame you, you’ll do what you’ll do. I guess it’s my fault for not following through, but I can’t help feel like you flew the coup. I’ll see my whole life fly by, wings weighed down, believing this is true. So I pack empty bags, and tie my shoes. Ooh. Wash up my rags to make the news. Now whatever I choose at least I choose discrete from you, under unimpressive rule. Vicariously gay ‘cause some art knew my name. Blind under the guise of some self-righteous lies doctored up like Sir Geisel, preposterful libelous disguise. When portions of myself appear in someone else, a portion is the way I feel construed. I walk in cow-shit shadows with the pretense that my feet are made of glue.
Pyg 03:25
Butterfly with an end game, head over heels before head even gets her name. Neutral glance with too much subtext is how it starts, and the ending is the same. Should you ever want somebody who wants somebody so you want somebody new even when you don’t want to, you can take some body and make somebody and still leave the body true. That’s all you’ve got left to do. I’m sorry, what did I say? I guess I get carried away when you don’t slap my face. I’ve burned all of the bridges that would lead me to this place, lost and naked pacing lonely around first base. Peers and friends shift to pygmalions. I build them up just so they can put me down chagrinned. Jilted world, wilted alien seeks solace in soft, cyclical skin. I get stuck in patterns stuck in patterns I get stuck and stuck again, playing games where nobody wins. I’m left bereft with no one left save two limbs and an organ friend, making zits into mountains. I hear what you say, and I feel what you do, but I am wont to misconstrue. Though wolves are at bay and debt is eschewed, I am bankrupt of my youth. So I get a new way, and find a new view so you won’t know me anymore and I won’t you. I hate to think I ever thought that way, to take someone and just treat them like a slate.
There, I’m immortalized forty years ago, frozen in polaroid and trapped in snow, but see, all my teeth were there and they still show but now as just an echo. Hair on my chest is transparent and at rest. Are your parents just the best you are? At best, just demoralized, frightened of the past, and re-runs all I ever show. I watch my face grow feet and run. I hide my eyes away from sun. I cry and cry and I’m no fun, am I done? Shy and regurgitant, what’s the point: to worship my idols, to just anoint? We bend over backwards just to change and appoint but all we do is disjoint. I buy all these clothes to distract me from my nose, to elicit praise for what I chose. We all try to be our own, all unknown, but all we do is disappoint. I break away umbilically. I set my sights on setting free. I find the where I want to be, but is it me? The footprint in concrete we all strive to see, statistically we all cannot achieve. At least try to be glad that you get to be. One-up Mona Lisa’s all we try to do, though mediocrity’s mostly all that’s true. Find happiness and try to make it through. It’s all been done to death, done to death, done to death. It’s all been done to death all before.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, at least you’d be faultless and free, not prisoner to time and your crimes. Try once and try twice, then thrice and you’ll find that there were more before like you. You’re just carbonless at best. You’ll sleep walk or you’ll snore but one thing’s sure: that when you rest, you’ll come through. So pass out, resolute. For auld lang syne, my dear, we all long have sighed for New Years’ cheers or beers beget new frames but keep old eyes. Nervously shirk, call out of work, then it builds up, begins to burst. I was brand new once, now I’m worse.
I shift and I sigh, nervously yawning all the time. I hink pinks ‘til I turn four years old and you turn five. I’m abyssal shy because whistle squeak click just means ‘hi’. Trust me, I’m fine. Discordant words get by on rhymes. I’m fine because saving face paints me a mime and blind. I think too much about nodding my head that it’s a crutch so I don’t turn red. It’s not enough that I have friends when I get in my head. I can’t say close names. Advantage taken, filled with shame or misplaced blame because I would not hear you say “let’s not today”, or how I could not hear you say “okay”. I think so much about nodding my head that it’s a crutch so I don’t turn red. I try to be tough, mind on my chin, to my chagrin. Kyle, Kyle, I really didn’t mean to be here for awhile, while I get so caught up just trying to crack a smile, I’ll be afraid fear’s misinterpreted, that my silences are only read as hostile. I think so much about nodding my head that it’s a crutch so I don’t turn red. I turn to fluff when burkas feel like too much skin. I think too much, now it’s a crutch. It’s not enough that I have friends when I get in my head.
Somewhere between a scapegoat genie and the rare cup of caffeine, I see a deity but only if there’s something that I need. Pleading on broken knee, do as your pleas, he looked so sad and weak. I won’t have you look that way, like I’m the same, your breath reeking of pity. I’m doing well. I don’t need your help. Empathy blind except when I’m in public, I can draw the line, but it’s learned behavior. It’s a lie. It’s just a matter of design. A stifled sneeze, product of cheese, but you wouldn’t know to look at me. I cover my tracks, I’ve got my back, and you won’t ever see the signs. I feel just fine.
Theme 03:47
We are so loud so you will not forget. Well, it’s something at least, so please Milly’s please, I need your approval or hatred but until it’s 1:00 I can’t leave. Sweaty, head swimming bees, it drowns out the count of sheep. Ah, it’s a relief, to be needed to please. Maybe that’s why I forego all the crackers and skip to the cheese, but who claps for that? In Atychioceania I’ve sunk into a sleepy needing funk, but when I swim to shore there’s never more than that old loud and needy drunk. I can’t wait until I don’t have to look back, the only thing worse than retro-gazing is future tripping. I want to be your Katy, and if you’re fat then we’re fat. I want to be your innards, be the this not the that. I want to make a difference, I want you wearing my hat. I need to be Kyary, and still need you shorter than me. I need to shit out nonsense, and for you to know what I mean. I need to find you out there, I know you’ve seen what I’ve seen. I’m gonna be your Ke$ha, a freak like any good dad. Fuck one-up Mona Lisa. I wrote that tired and mad, because if reason trumps faith, I’ll die a sinner and sad. But you’re okay, and we’re okay. If you’re okay, then we’re okay. Though we say it every day, oh well, still you’re okay and we’re okay.
I am coming home today and not to glory sway with tail between my legs, but rather face a former hate. I catch a trophy turning gray. Rather than polish it or just repudiate, I dust it off and get on my way. Oh, faux-sis, I’m so sheepish. I see now I wanted to condemn you for making me a lunatic by driving you demented, but you’re blameless and the truth is that I’m just not compos mentis, and I guess I never wanted to be your familiar. I just hurt my back carrying rom-coms and a projector, but now I can see you and just let you be you. Precocious throws your tract away. To ever think you’re ripe is fruitless child’s play and will plant you where you stay. Still, don’t pretend you were born today. You may think your raffish suit will lipo faults away, but suitors split when you don’t weigh anything. Bio-mom, you’ve done no wrong. I mistook your subsidence for being gone, but you had every right to be withdrawn. My weak state saw in him some brawn. The spawn of denouement, I see now I thought that you were evil ‘cause you were as helpless as I was. But with half my umbrella, I leaned toward the sun. Forgetting its fire, I thought it a protector, and I’m glad to have been there but I couldn’t live there. Flabbergasted they moved past it quite so fast, I made it last so painfully to force them back, when I should have got back on track. (just cut less slack for all I lacked and then got cracking) You’ll be going home someday. I’ll be what I’ll be but you will be okay, so I won’t dare ask you to stay or come back to me.


released February 7, 2016

Album art by Sally Schofield.

Produced, engineered, and mixed almost entirely by Max Sink, with the occasional peep from Zanois.

Written and performed by Zanois, who are:

Dad - Drums
Justice - Guitar
Zane - Bass/Vox

with the following exceptions: "Jon" written by Zanois and Jon Poole, and "Old Long Sigh Wave" written by Zanois but based on the traditional "Auld Lang Syne" featuring some lyrics by Robert Burns.

Harmonies and bro vocals on "Strawberry Popsicle", whistle on "Jon", and round vocals on "Mona Lisa" by Max Sink.

Thanks to so many people that we can't help but forget some of you I'm sure: (in no particular order except for the first one) Max Sink, Moe & Liam & Marc, Grammy, Grandaddy & Nana, Uncle Chris & Aunt Tammany, Uncle Duke, Alex Allard, Sally Schofield, Isaac Gilbert, Nikki Karvelas, Michi & Sam & Brian Tassey, Rachel von Husen, Kenneth Fox, Mom, Jeff, Hanna Hayden, Billy Steeves, Sarah Repeta, Kennedy & Christine and Meredith & Tina & Amelia & Annie & all our SCOOP friends, Matt Azrieli & mom & Chloe Edelman, Mista Matt, Linda Kelly, Leah and Modern Gypsy, Jan Jan, Kick the Mixer team, Ethan Brown, Ryan Nordle, Adam Thibeault, Sarah Phat, Peter Sullivan, Scotty Cloutier, Tristan Omand, Brian Williams, Governor Denny, Marshal Wright, Dave Vaine, Andrew Chong, Dan Strassfeld, Ross Arnold, Beau Gillespie, Ryan Isabelle, School Shoes, Motherer, altopalo, Craig and Chanda Mattson, Gachary Goldberg, Boy Friends, Squiggly Lines, Tom Dalzell, It's There Fork, Neil Fridd / Terror Pigeon, DAve Crespo, Jacob Moore, Alex DeSilva, Joe Lacerda, Jon Poole, Paul Bauer, Eric Sauter, Ian Secrest, Mick Noll, Morgan Storage,, Kelly from the Passport Office, Kyle O'Dowd, Scott Kinnison, Sink Bros family, the Ben Higginbotham band boys, Two Brothers, Mike Bunie, Josh Mimms, Kevin Feeney, Chris Mansfield, Leo Lydon, Dave Dennison, Burnouts, One Way Drive, Paul & Sweet Carolina, Mindset X, 1984 folks, Ed Lasher, James Attridge, Charles J. Hagopian Jr., Tapes 'n Tubes, Jordan Paul, Dave Mattacks, Ryan Reminisce, Joe Rizzo, Dirt Weed Revue, Seth Heidkamp, Arik Arsenault, Andrew Tomczak, Mark Zan, Jason Landry, Karen Hope, Earshot Records in NC and Fred, Swamps, Color Orange, Me in Capris, Ben in NC, YVES, Lucas Melo, anyone who came out to a show and who knows how many more. We tried to limit it to who helped us specifically in making or supporting this record but there's too many sweet people in the world. We are indebted to you and we hope this covers at least a little bit of the interest.

Dedicated to the memory of Sean Brown.


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Zanois Manchester, New Hampshire

Weird-pop family band from NH.

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