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Blank​-​Wave Arcade

by The Faint

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released November 1, 1999

1999 Saddle Creek

the faint are todd baechle - vocal, synthesizer; jacob thiele - synthesizer, vocal; clark baechle - drums, vocal; joel petersen - bass, guitar.
produced by the faint and aj mogis. engineered by aj mogis at dead space in lincoln, ne. mastered by doug van sloun all songs (c) grammar out of context (sesac) original cover photo taken by jamie williams. thank you to matt bowen and ethan jones.



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The Faint Omaha, Nebraska

Dudes from Omaha that grew up on punk, noise, death metal, new wave, techno, & skateboarding.


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Track Name: Sex Is Personal
I'm caught in excitement, an unusual spell. It's pure in a sense and abstract from our lives. We talked a lot, Abstraction came into focus. Her tales of the tour and a hardcore life were unmatched by the pop subculture in mine. We talked a lot and soon it would come into
focus. There's no time for fighting, any sex is personal information not appealing to me in any sense at all. Is it wrong to think I'm a traditional man? I'd hope I'd be up for an annexation of that. Yeah a part of me can deal with these open relations; but "concept" to "do" is like "yes" to a "goal". . . it's unclear how it happens, maybe we'll act how we planned it. We sure talked a lot and soon it came into focus. There's no time for fighting any sex is personal. Keep your head above the meaning and devotion doesn't swell. Any sexual encounter adds an awful twisting touch. It's like scamming in the 90's but getting used to this is hard.
Track Name: Call Call
I'd sleep on the white tile lobby floor and pace until the time to visit starts. The bright lights are on but I'm away. . . how nervous a voice sounds on the phone. You agree when you check in at the desk - permission and trust in every move. I'd be beside you when they're done but I'll have to wait until I can call. The blood kept you home while I was gone. They left you a note when you woke up: “Don't be alarmed by wooden splints.” There won't be a need for you to call. Excuses for careless doctor errors. Acceptance by all past patients have allowed for a cold disclaiming note. The warning is there, no need to call.
Track Name: Worked Up So Sexual
I see you work at night, are you sexually amused? What's it like to have a room of guys encircling you? How she moves, how she walks. They all patiently await while the heat from in their pockets could burn marks into their legs. Without your needs and your support she'd have a job the same as ours - nothing daring. Would she miss a job that's sexual? In every city there are dozens of these clubs where men can go. Some people need a little challenge to their fantasies at home. There's a little tiny number on a fold of matches, the ink drips from a little dancer’s pen. Everybody wants that fold of matches to reinflate their confidence. Hey it is a job, it pays a lot, is it disservicing someone? And is it good to get these men worked up so sexual? Older dancers gag at what new talent seems to mean. Smaller tits and younger limbs can cause a fit of rivalry.
Track Name: Cars Pass In Cold Blood
There's a fire in the road where a frame is burnt and other automobiles are slowing down around the fire. Lanes are backed up and people get all anxious inside. They've got a schedule to keep and don't want life to slip by. The siren and cube are coming up from behind. 1981 stereo is drowned from the sound. I see a car with an urge and a driver to control it. He's carried away because what he does is more important. Cars pass in cold blood. I hold back, it' hard to; because I really want to block but realize it's a bad time for that. I try to stay calm and watch the ambulance pass, but as the car with the schedule pulled out of their lane, I had a terrible urge, but no driver to control it. Don't get carried away; what he does is not important.
Track Name: Casual Sex
casual sex - is it irrational? (yes) I think it's time to find out why and soon I fall asleep, it's nighttime. In a dream there's a dolphin and a soldier, they're walking through the sand and toward a morgue. In an office there's a hostess who has carried our friend and wheeled him into a drawer. She pulls his file, the air is cold. Down the aisle we follow her, I'm thinking casual sex - the feeling. Casual sex - the soldier's life's the same as mine and he's attracted to a nun. But the feeling of sex is nothing possible yet, a new wave soldier's standing next to a young nun. The nun just has to pace, her gothic skirt over her legs, they're getting warmer toward the insides and their tops. “The inexistence of time” is not a painting, it's life. They're into robes and gloves, goblet glass and crosses. The feeling of sex is nothing possible yet. A new wave soldier is standing next to a young nun. The sound of her voice, and the handle of the robe are getting thinner as the whip begins to speak. The nun just strikes a pose. The soldier's helmet hits the floor. He's walking backward until he's pinned against stained glass.
Track Name: Victim Convenience
I took two steps out of the door and I got two steps away and then I turned, the screen was calling. I could not resist. You could find a bead of light. One can cause the outside window to dull. Pause until the evening turns and it's a.m. routine job or the pills. We're all on cable I.V. drips. Let red cells pixelate us. Constant help needed to unhook. Call it “victim convenience.” I took two steps out of the room and I stepped back toward the door and tried again, a conversation, and it went like this: I could talk for hours to you. I could watch your mouth and eyes until they shut. The controller's lost and I'd rather commit “power” than hear this out.
Track Name: Sealed Human
The body dances to the beat of the noises from the street. As patterns grids and schedules go, we took a subway to the show. So give us this day our daily commute. On the bus in three piece suits. Say goodbye, kiss and ride. On the way to the club, look outside. The movement kills in several ways, although we see it as delay. The steering wheel; a guillotine. The body dances to the beat. Wife: “take the subway, fuck the street”. The flesh twists between the gap and passengers are also trapped. Inertia pushed them all along, but they wont make it to their next stop. Patrons complain about
the wait, while the man outside cant feel his legs. "Just pull me out, save my life" But all the cops can do is phone his wife. She drives as fast as she can, and gets caught up in a traffic jam. (SUB BALANCE HEARING TRACKS TWISTED SPUN VICTIM FLESH PATRON BRAKES FRICTION SERVICE)
Track Name: In Concert
You sit outside in the dark and get nicked by the strobe light while we're playing indoors. We play in a bar, we play in a basement, we play in a room where the mix isn't right. The help at the door, the age to get in, the artist is smug, they don't sound like they did. We're ready to move, the crowd is a stare. If you've got things on your mind, shake them off. That’s why we have come to collect you bodies from your lovers, and pause all the suffering. . . at least start pacing (please). You're not on the list, you paid to get in. Your boyfriend is mad, it was something you did. In concert tonight, the bass drum is quick. If you've got things on your mind, shake them off.
Track Name: The Passives
Left eye spins in circles, passives line the rail. They get no satisfaction from the electre-static breaks. A beat can't cut the passives loose they're afraid what we will say. No harm is done when you try it then hide. Parts moving - keep moving. A cool collected life is a safe heard that. You're unsure but its clear to us. Come to terms, you're alone here observing. Every time you go out you observe. Walk past collared passives. Don't look toward their eyes. It adds to their discomfort, shows there's some confidence they miss.