All the Way Out into Space

by Double Rainbow

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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • All the Way Out into Space Zine + Album
    Poster/Print + Digital Album

    Crafted with love and assembled diligently under the fluorescent bulbs of a copy shop in Richmond VA, this 12 page zine features original words and artwork from Double Rainbow protected with sandstone. All zine purchases receive an immediate digital download of the five song album which accompany the text almost perfectly.

    Includes unlimited streaming of All the Way Out into Space via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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about

This second installation from Double Rainbow offers a newly expanded rhythm section while maintaining the group's definitive raw delivery. Low frequencies mix with the guttural howling of outer space. Shrieks and twangs are softened by dulcet songwriting of interstellar proportions. The outcome borders on an original retelling of history and already forgotten current events.

credits

released August 5, 2013

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Recorded by JK at the Cat Mansion in May 2013.
Mixed by Double Rainbow and JK.

All music composed and performed by Double Rainbow.
James Faulstich played drums.
Erik Akers played bass.
Isaac Ramsey played guitar and did words.

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about

Double Rainbow Richmond, Virginia

Double Rainbow is a rather mouthy indie rock band from Richmond, Virginia, born in 2010 spitting grits piss and vinegar.

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Track Name: The 85 Bears
I am chewing on chewing gum and cat food and futilely fighting off natural disaster. They happen faster than I like, but I like light shows and exploding wreckage. I am neck to neck with big business. A skin flint in search of adventure, a penny pincher venturing outwards from the orbital path of his own message.

Clean up your highways, clean up your towns.
We'll always be riding on 95 South.
Clean out your airways, clean out your mouth.
The year is 1985 right now, and it's the 85 Bears.
They're there, they're willing to kill you. Don't be scared.
It's just the 85 Bears.

I've got a stomach built like a gas tank, full of some mathematical invention. Let the academic henchman appraise the finest minds of the century, for whom I'm running out of kind words and already running on Bio Diesel. Fill me up with that safe sound and I'll pass it around to the gentry. I've heard that 1 and 1 is 2 and, 2 more that is 4 and, what's even more, it could be like 3.99999. I've forgotten all my tables, I'm dancing with division, able to relearn em one day so it's no concern of mine.

Clean up your highways, clean up your towns.
We'll always be riding on 95 South.
Clean out your airways, clean out your mouth.
The year is 1985 right now, and it's the 85 Bears.
They're there, they're willing to kill you. Don't be scared.
It's just the 85 Bears.

I've got ears resembling gas chambers empty of inaudible creation. A plausible explanation to why I can't shut up on my own. I got a gigabyte worth of information on good gentlemen gone gin fiddling later to become loose lipped and accident prone. I got a face shaped like a gas mask. Too bad it doesn't share the same function, because I'm a need something to filter out your bullshit. I haven't heard a story as sad as yours since the bombing of Pangea, but don't worry, I'll be back with a First Aid kit and the 85 Bears.

The 85 Bears.

They're there, they're willing to kill you. Don't be scared.

It's just the 85 Bears.
Track Name: Control
If I were you, I wouldn't be so sure you can get em with a weapon at all.
Cuz they've got those too, and they've got it on lock. Matter of fact, it's like they've got it all under control.
The machine is on. And it's under my skin, spilling the blood of such digital men. Who is this androgynous architect? Your anonymous god.
Upset with the prison that you're living in, you're finishing your sentences lamenting that you're the center of attention in invisible dimensions. For friends of repetitive resistance, there's always someone listening in (Oliver North, Richard Nixon for sure).
As the 1% spins in cylinder tin cans all the way out into space, unplug the internet, burn down their malls, and camp out on their banks.
Funny how it's never the ones with all the money at the other end of that gun. God Bless the military, say "amen" when the ruling class starts to run.

Because they won't be back.

At least not for you.
Track Name: Wake Up
Slippin in and in and in and in and in and in and in and out of the day dream
Dream of personal political positions as they’re forming in circles of friendship
A clockwork Bukowski type, I been sitting in on academic settings,
A fidgety soul spits out particles, then most likely, grows old and withers away
God Damn, the scientific method is tested, and the Periodic Table’s a mess!
I guess I’m all chemical killer, color me conscious of it if I’m a never fall asleep again.
In math class, always paid attention, even on the weekend. Center Based Gifted skipped a grade. Any good book could become my favorite but I forgot how to read today.
Maybe there’s another way
Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re the ones generating the wealth. The war paint’s on.
Resistance been identifiable by tear gas paid for by the banks.
A sling shot think tank gets threatened by the promise of indefinite detention.
Cynicism settles and cinema sets in when the citizen’s in revolt.
Catapulting out onto Congress, up out of the streets. Refusing to leave.
The police they come stand in line.
Tell us that we’re safe like this whereas we’ve been stranded in time
Maybe there’s another way.
Wake up to the strange music. We have the truth and we’re willing to prove it.
Keep your eyes peeled on the people (the ones who turned on your surveillance units).
A flash mob at each intersection til there’s no one left to question.
Send us all off to jail.
And know that, we were willing to fail.
Track Name: Rodrigo Rosenberg
Bicycle rides can clear your head.
Leave you on the asphalt bullets in your skull (not now),
They'll leave you for dead.
Co-conspirators will gather after the fact and call your son
Tell him with regret that his cousins are the suspects under investigation.
Who made those calls that made those threats?
Fly him in from Spain, get yourself an expert on the GPS.
Get it off your chest. Get it off your chest.
And do not worry any more of her death.
All you need's a podium and bullet proof vest.
All you need's a podium and bullet proof vest.

I'll see you on the spaceship when you go.
Off to Heaven with white roses by your side.
And floating in a window,
I'll see you on the Internet when you rise.
Back from Hell, poisonous daggers in your eyes.

Are you standing outside of your chapel still?
You know your love's gone, done, finished, zip, zilch, nothing, murdered.
You, you've had your fill.
There's no help left.
You're waiting for a sign from God to show.
You're a ghost in the making who walks alone on imaginary roads where

Another passenger is shot down, love stripped, and left to bleed.
The gunner, he rides away on the backseat of a moped.
Call the police and pray.
Stoplight's red to green. It changes for you.
Stoplight's red to green. It changes for you.


I'll see you on the spaceship when you go.
Off to Heaven with white roses by your side.
And floating in a window,
I'll see you on the Internet when you rise.
Back from Hell, poisonous daggers in your eyes.
Track Name: Song for the Dead
Come grab a gravity bong and a hotel bible, complimentary footprints on your way out that door. Shit eating grin on your face and your airplane is falling out of the ozone into the outskirts of remote outer space. Picture me in a life vest with the caption. I am a drowning accident just waiting to happen at my best in a nascent stage of death. Epitaph broadcasting, transistor radio trapped in my chest. So sing a song for the dead and do not, do not allow your self to malfunction. Maybe it’s all in your head. Would you beat back that bad bone fragment upon drum skin? No. I don’t have the time of day. I don’t even have an I.D. Probably got a cigarette, a phone bill, maybe a wallet, losing lottery tickets and pennies stuck in my pocket. The television at home is in tact. Clip off the antennas, but the limbs have been known to grow back. Turn on that bad news and try to relax. Kick off the shoes and go overreact to the same old scenario. Reality TV type Japanese Game Show. No reports of a Double Rainbow. Interrupted by the Tsunami. Tokyo. CNN. American men sitting in and thinking bombing. I’m carving a halo I made out of cardboard. I got a telescope that I made out of play-dough. I point it at the heavens. I’m notating in crayon. See, I am certainly no Galileo. Whoa. Naw. Another death sentence. Thank God I got an anti-clerical comeback. Show me the contract. I’m ready for warfare. A friend of the night time don’t have any health care. And at New Year’s, I resolved to be brave and I was excited for 2012. I’m a do my best now to behave, remain in the shadows and carefully line up each one of my dominos in the snow. Adamantly add another cadaver to the equation and then clench fists. Abracadabra. You’re somebody else’s hallucination now. Who doesn’t exist? A 3D-image stretched like fabric. At your best, a visible pulsation. My make and model is a mostly ape-like throwback recreation. I’m an organism in decay. Defined by my personal taste and geographical location. Now, shout outs to the Appalachians. I’ll explain… I really like apples. And I’m down with moonshine. But I’m not a Christian. And I don’t hate China quite yet. Not that I’m not afraid of em. Remember I’m ready for warfare. Remember to be brave. All we want is that special laissez-faire type of bliss or someone to show us that we exist or someone to miss or someone pretty by the death bed with a last kiss or someone on your birthday. No, I don’t want no hologram. Even if it’s better than no friends, or better than no family… because I heard that there may be some bad news coming along up on the horizon. If memory serves, they’ll all be gone. Miles away! Say they won’t be back. Hope you have a nice day. Know it’ll be okay. And from time to time, time takes your loved ones away. So sing a song for the dead and do not do not allow yourself to malfunction. Maybe it’s all in your head and existence is a mighty fine human assumption. Sing a song for the dead, and do not do not allow your self to mal to malfunction.