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Broken Water

by Elephant Rifle

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Broken Water on splattered vinyl to give it that trippy look. Limited to 250 copies available from Learning Curve Records.

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Same as the splatter version with one key difference: this platter is black like the depths of the human soul.

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Digital audio for those of you who keep it old school. Prepare to have your hair blown back like those old Maxell ads. Compact Disc available from Humaniterrorist Record Collective.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Broken Water via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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      $10 USD or more 

     

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    The most obsolete and therefore collectable format! Released by our friends in the north, No List Records.

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    edition of 50 

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  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 16 Elephant Rifle releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Broken Water, Get Off My Back, Dude [Live 2/22/2020] - Clint's Picks vol. 3, Satyriasis, Pretty Girls, Handsome Guys [Live 6/9/2019] - Clint's Picks vol. 2, Leader of the Pack, Teach You to Dance - A Decade Anthology, Pressing the Flesh [Live 9/21/2018] - Clint's Picks vol. 1, Anti-Klan, and 8 more. , and , .

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1.
Kübler-Ross 01:58
Broken. But it’s alright. It’s OK. Denial. This can’t be happening to me. Bargaining. If I could just have more time. Anger. I refuse to give … If I could just have more time.
2.
New Wimpkiller cries crocodile tears. Much to mock surprise, confirmed your worst fears. He is not safe. He is not clean. Says he’s found god. Smoke fills smokescreen. New Bankteller smiles, retells ancient lies. “Back to the witch trials,” New Wimpkiller cries. They are not safe. They are not clean. Says you’ve found trust. Smoke fills smokescreen. They say they need more money, simple fact of survival. They say they need more armies. They have to smash their rivals. They say I’ve got no value, simple act of denial. They’ve never seen me gyrate—let’s give them an eyeful.
3.
The things you buy will never last. Use them just once, and then it’s trash. Throw your telephone away! Two years is ancient for today. Watching all those old movies From like Nineteen-Forty-Five: Smoking all those cigarettes— How are they still alive? Watch today’s flicks in like Twenty-One-Twenty-Six: Staring at their cell phones— No wonder they’re all sick.
4.
Dry Nurse 03:13
Come ride around, My little one. The night is young, My little son. No need to sleep, No need to weep. I know you thirst. My body hurts With dry milk cursed. I’ll find you food, An interlude. We’ll find a ghost Along the road, A sacred host. By gravel streams, To bring you dreams, He says these things: “I’ll wave my hand, Come what can From stardust and sand.”
5.
All locomotive, no tracks. Grass has grown amongst my struts. A bird has made its nest in my stack, Gathered twigs and a piece of ribbon. I hear her sing, but I will not give in. All locomotive, no tracks. My brothers have traveled to the West, And some have even come back, Telling tales of well-oiled living. I hear them sing, but I will not give in. The land is wild, no borders welcomed. The man is vile, his murders wanton. The bastards will move faster there, At massive acres, with tracks preferred. The massacres, the massacres. All locomotive, no tracks. All steamed up and nowhere to go— A third act with no climax. Head full of steam and nowhere to blow. Beware illusions of accomplishment. Daily conclusions of rust and regret.
6.
I just got another sixty-five cents, So I take the bus, route number ten, Then walk out beyond the chain-link fence, To a place where no road has ever been. That’s where I have my little home: A tent, a bag, a stove, a coat, a gun. I found the stove; I stole the chrome. I lie down and watch the setting sun. Every billionaire is a crime, Sucking all the blood out of stones. Every billionaire is a crime, Building castles out of worker bones. As the stars come out, I look up. Satellite cameras staring down at me. The blinking of the lights make my heart jump. Nowhere that the panopticon can’t see. I’m often hungry and always cold. I’m afraid. I don’t know when I will die, But I know I’ll never get old, While rich men fly rockets in the skies.
7.
Been a lot of Rockefellers robbing from the poor. Been a lot of robber barons starting all the wars. Been a lot of little hills not worth dying on, Been a lot of dying beds glorified in song. Dance around the ancient world. Dance it to the grave. Don’t allow the pharaohs to steal another slave. Let’s lynch all the landlords, and let’s kill all the kings. Send those fucking apes back to living in the trees. Living on this planet, a perfect little realm, Let’s not build monuments to gods and fucking clowns. Tear down those stupid walls. They’re only made of fear. Chase away the ghosts. The future is not theirs. Dance around the modern world. Dance it to the grave. Don’t allow the fascists to steal another slave. Let’s lynch all the landlords, and let’s kill all the kings. Send those fucking apes back to living in the trees. Build a better bonfire of all those spangled rags. Light another effigy and take another drag. I want to see some nakedness. I want to dance all night. And would I like to drink some blood? You know, I think I might. Face your failures! Face your fears! Dance around the rocket world. Dance it to the grave. Don’t allow the tyrants to steal another slave. Let’s lynch all the landlords, and let’s kill all the kings. Send those fucking apes back to living in the trees.
8.
“I’m a doctor, and I don’t care Just how long you’ve been waiting here. Take a number, wait in line. No respect for anyone else’s time.” “Why do you still gouge us?” “I don’t know. Call insurance.” “What’s with these gross charges?” “We don’t know. Call hospital.” “Don’t ask us. Call your doctor.” “Don’t ask me. Call insurance.” “Don’t ask us. Call hospital.” “Don’t ask us. Call your doctor.” “Insurance agent, and I don’t care Just how much you’ve been spending here. Don’t get sick on our precious dime Or we’re sure to bleed you dry.” “You expect me to listen? Don’t ask me, call a mortician.” “Why call me? What you wishing? For a better pot to piss in?” “We’re Big Pharma, and we don’t care Just how numb inside you are. Take your pills, and you’ll be fine, Trust us, children, and don’t you cry Wolf to your mama. Go see doctor. Tell him we sent you. He’s a specialist. In bleeding, bleeding you dry. Get your blood work done. We profit from other people’s suffering. We profit from other people’s suffering. We profit from other people’s suffering. Insurance, hospital owners profit from other people’s suffering.”
9.
Waxing crescent, waxing half-moon Lost my virginity to a girl from Silver City. Waxing gibbous, waning gibbous When my lycanthropy acts up, I ain’t looking pretty. Waning half-moon, waning crescent
10.
11.
Look at my hair. See how it flows? Look at my skin. See how it glows? Check out my tan. See how I bronze? Here, touch my hands. Here, feel my arms. Been a long life, but it ain’t surviving. Got an idea, and it ain’t so violent. Got a little wet, and it ain’t saliva. Somewhere to go, and it ain’t so private. Look at my mouth. See how it foams? Follow my breath. Hear how I groan? See how I glow? Here, touch my skin. The water is fine, so come on in. The water is fine, so come on in The water.

about

According to a Washington Post study published on Sept. 2, 2022, the “most-regretted college majors” are the arts and the humanities. Nearly half of college graduates who studied subjects like literature, visual art, and journalism now say they wish they’d studied something else. Maybe computer science or engineering. Those students have no regrets.

But when a society no longer values the humanities, that creates a void in which inhumanity takes hold.

That’s the background hum of 2023: Wars motivated by control of energy-producing resources. Global pandemics. Systematic racism, sexism, and xenophobia. The lingering aftereffects of colonialism. The dehumanizing, alienating, isolating results of capitalism-driven technological “innovation.”

People feel sad and lonely. We work two jobs and can’t afford the things our parents could buy with one salary. And those of us who studied art and music, or journalism and cinema, no longer feel
like we have a place.

Closed circuit cameras surveil us all as we walk down the street. As we scour the internet, the search engines search us back. As we write messages, a robotic intelligence curbs our thoughts, automatically altering our greatest curses into mere attempts to lower oneself beneath the surface like a waterfowl.

We have all forgotten how to dance. Every motion is carefully choreographed. Every glance at the camera is self-conscious. Every sound is precisely placed, calculated to optimal electronic frequency. There is no blissful, mindless thrashing. There is no total obliteration of the self in service of an ecstatic moment of ridiculous volume. We have all forgotten how to mindfuck.

So why make music? Why write songs? Because the mindfuck matters. Not the cold, long-play confidence-man mindfuck of a nightly television drip of propaganda that slowly warps a brain out of shape, but the hot, immediate mindfuck of a fearless sound that cleans cobwebs out of craniums like a blaze of fire coursing through an attic.

Elephant Rifle is a band from Reno, Nevada. They have been toiling in relative obscurity since 2010. Their music draws from ’90s noise rock, ’80s hardcore punk, and ’70s classic rock, with some metal, jazz, and psychedelia, among other things, thrown in as well. They are middle-aged men who have, among them, fathered more than enough children to field a baseball team.

Broken Water, the band’s forthcoming new record, is their fourth LP and their first full-length album in five years. It’s a new lineup of familiar faces. Vocalist and unemployed music journalist Brad Bynum, and guitarist and Grateful Dead/Minor Threat enthusiast Clinton Wallace are joined for this record by heavy-hitting drummer and golden-eared sound engineer Mike Young, and, back from some long Orphic journey into the underworld, bassist Scaught Bates, who once came in second place in a “most handsome man in Reno” contest. Scaught played on most of the band’s early releases, like the 2011 EP Teenage Lover and the 2012 debut full-length, Party Child. And Mike was a big part of the band’s 2018 opus, Hunk.

Like that album, Broken Water was recorded with producer and recording engineer Tim Green, of Nation of Ulysses and the Fucking Champs, at his idyllic Northern California studio Louder, but Broken Water is a new kind of beast. Most of the songs were written and recorded during the darkest days of the Covid pandemic, without the benefit of road-testing the songs during the band’s loud, sweaty, ridiculous live shows. So there are new kinds of moods—some quiet, pensive moments—but there’s still a lot of anger: Anger about fascists. Planned obsolescence. Unplanned obsolescence. Economic disparity. The medical-industrial complex. The inevitability of death.

And that anger is also a currency. An electric currency. For an electric fire. And that fire glows. And pops. And crackles. And snaps. There is warmth in the fire. Euphoric warmth. Like hot water. Like breaking water, giving birth. Humanity.


LP released by Learning Curve Records, Cassette released by No List Records, CD released by Humaniterrorist. Collect 'em all!

credits

released April 28, 2023

All songs by Elephant Rifle.

Scaught Bates - bass guitar, bongos, jaw harp, shakers, theremin, vocals
Brad Bynum - vocals, piano, electric piano, organ, Rat Tug
Clinton Wallace - electric and acoustic guitars, dulcimer, organ, vocals
Michael Young - drums, percussion, vibraphone

with:
Jenn Archerd - vocals
Tim Green - ring modulator

Recorded by Tim Green at Louder Studios.
Produced by Tim Green and Elephant Rifle.
Artwork by Michael Sarich.
Photo by Metal Jeff.
Dry Nurse, Cig Stain White, Medicinal Leeches & Waxxxing Gibbbous written with Mike Mayhall.
Kübler-Ross written with Troy Micheau.

This album was made with support from The Nevada Arts Council and The National Endowment for the Arts.

Thank you Rainer Fronz, Lee Repko, Metal Jeff, Michael Sarich and Austin Pratt.
Thank you to our families and friends.
Thank you (yes you) for seeking us out.
We hope you enjoy this record.

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Elephant Rifle Reno, Nevada

Hardcore band from Nevada. For fans of John Carpenter and ODB.

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