About Me
GARAGEBAND.com/artist/TOXIN TONGUES tracks are full length, superclean, hi-fi streams, plus there are some older songs to sift through, a few of which you can listen to at the Syntax Evasion Syndrome profile sitting atop the friends list way down south. You can get these Odds, Ends, Sketches and Skeletons for free with the purchase of DEVOLVER and you can hear/buy the new album at
cdbaby.com/cd/toxintongues or by clicking below...
Neo grunge, semi symphonic blues rock with a slice of Lennon,(for freshness).
......or download at itunes, napster, or conveniently enough, right under the music box up there.
Thanks for stopping by and listening to our little record collection, here at Phonographic Memories and other Forever Endeavors.
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The following misinformation was leaked through the disassociated press' poorly thatched roof on a cold , wintry, ominous night. Much like tonight...only different . Much different. It's a lot less "ominous" and a little warmer.
"Toxin Tongues, the internationally unpopular rock trio, is comprised of five or six unkempt egos all residing in the cluttered and freshly painted head of Christian Nava, about three hundred miles south of northern California where they get together and forge their gritty, sublime sound from the sludge and symphony of the modern world- dripping like some sort of cool thick liquid onto their tracks, given life on this nine song..forty five minute collection of rockompostions often referred to as "The Curse of Hobo Kabobo" L.P. because of the mysterious disappearance of color coded house keys, coupled with the untidy death of a wise and slippery goldfish that provided the inspiration for the ill fated folk single entitled, "Septic Funeral (Only the Gold Die Young )," but with renewed vigor and memberships to the Auto Club, they crafted these seven or eight songs and drove for days and days without fear of breaking down literally or the opposite of literally, for they knew that one day, these eleventeen songs would be heard by ears attached to heads of humans who know what it's like to lose house keys and goldfish...and the very fabric from which we are woven. Or something."
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static and hum...
The loose ends- the fast friends
and their cat cradled connections.
The change of tune- the dimming,
the unceremonious exit. Left it,
headed for Disaster not but a mile from here.
Headlong into the headlight menorahs-
into the screech and fume of civilization
with the auras and the infra red eyes
in the operatic static and hum.
The scores of lives composed
and the improv of those attuned to the discord,
clash like colors on the run in the cold , dead schemes of the city.
The none of the above and the unknown-
a ring of truth slipped on the finger of her bones...
the empty gesture.
He don't worry 'bout the shelf life of blues
'cause they're built to last like the bottoms of shoes,
sole draggin' until the final stand.
The shaky hands all shook out, wrung out and rough,
"it's high time the sun went down if it ever even came up",
he said, half mast to the dog at his side,
barely breaking the skin.
Copiously admiring the shape he's in.
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2006 by an unknown author named Chris Chen who lives in Obscurity, California with a skeptical moustache, and is currently working on another rock 'n' roll record, set to be released within the year, with good behavior, pending an album review of the parole board.------------------------------------------------------
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