Get all 26 Adeem the Artist releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of What If We Stayed?, I C U, Home Recordings Vol. 2, White Trash Revelry, Home Recordings Vol. 1, Cast-Iron Pansexual, Merry Christmas, Urgent Care, Tiger Prince of Knoxville, and 18 more.
1. |
Listening
02:53
|
|
||
The sun just set on our back yard
Sound pours out of the neighbors car
A honda fit in the adjacent lot
the guy is brooding- they must have fought again
and you are soaking dishes
they clang around like untuned instruments
my heart is an untuned instrument
it’s why you’re the only one listening
and we don’t have room for another baby
you won’t be moved, and it’s your say
but I can’t say the things I feel
without you getting angry
my brother calls, he’s in a tight spot
I nod and answer like a robot
there is no space for this inside me
he sounds exhausted, and I start crying
but he can’t tell, I hide it well
I practiced years to learn this spell
to cast when I’m feeling hollow
and finally say, “I’ll come tomorrow”
but we don’t have room for another baby
and from the other room, I can hear you saying
all the things you say under your breath
when you start hurting
|
||||
2. |
Daddy's Accent
02:07
|
|
||
I am not above saying something problematic
With my daddy’s accent when my thoughts are automatic
For decades I was socialized to occupy a different world
And it’s hard the unlearning, and earnestly earning the trust of the ones your ancestors spent burning
But if I got caught with my mouth full of something so hurtful, I would feel pregnant with shame
And it’s hard but it’s simple becoming a symbol of ignorance and violent hate
But if someone said something disgusting in my name, you better believe I’d have something to say
For example…
All you fucking racists better never buy my CD’s
Until you’re ready to show up for Black Country Artists
And give them the love that you wasted on me
When you thought I was racist, you were wasteful with praises
Like sick sycophantic supremacists do
But as for me, I’m reading and learning, deconstructing with fury
And there’s certainly nothing supreme about you
But if you hire a PR consultant,
While building your wealth on minorities pain
And leave the whole case completely unexamined
Well, I guess that’s American Music explained
|
||||
3. |
Strangers
02:40
|
|
||
I met you before we matured
I was convinced of your sacred nature
Your laughter was pure
A sweet, authentic thing
We both liked Futurama
We shared so many things
But now you’re not a friend to me
It’s not like we’re enemies
Just strangers
And it’s stranger than it sounds
It seems we just shared a little moment in time
And I’m grateful that you were a friend of mine
You used to drive through my town
And we would drink cheap liquor together
Sometimes I would be down
But you knew just what to say
You were good at making me feel important
And I could always make you laugh
But now you’re not a friend to me
It’s not like we’re enemies
Just strangers
And it’s stranger than it sounds
It seems we just shared a little moment in time
And I’m grateful that you were a friend of mine
It’s true that you hurt me
And I know I hurt you too
I thought our friendship meant a little more to you
And, honestly, it’s fine
I don’t always know it’s time
But I’m grateful you were a friend of mine
|
||||
4. |
Hopeless Karaoke
02:42
|
|
||
In the dim light of my cellphone
Explicating eruditeness from hack lines
Half-naked and half-baked
Words can sound so different
but appear to rhyme
I don’t feel so inspired
Only tired of the rage
I guess I’m just a poser
Thought I’d be a little bit closer
To nirvana by my age
But I don’t feel very centered
Only angry and afraid
Lacking all the listless impious iridescence
Of my misspent early days
I want to be behind a tower of PBR’s
Having a good time in some off-broadway bar
And maybe you pick a song for me
Or maybe we don’t sing at all
If I’m going to be hopeless,
I want to be hopelessly singing along
With my ear pressed to a memory
Paper thin walls and secrets
Visiting myself in dreams
Where the themes seem foreboding and sadly cryptic
I don’t know my history
It’s a mystery I reinvent
Out of passing moments
And I know this is normal but I don’t trust myself with it
I’m sluggish and apathetic
Angry and afraid
Trace lines of the last time my hands were energetic
But nothing new was made
|
||||
5. |
Defund the KPD
01:00
|
|||
I live in a city called Knoxville
in a valley in East Tennessee
we got Mountain Dew, barbecue,
& protests in the streets
we got a problem with gang violence
kids don't feel safe in the streets
if you wanna help, fire the thugs!
Defund the KPD
that's the Knoxville police department-
you know what I mean?
if you wanna help to end gang violence,
defund the KPD
|
||||
6. |
Dirtbike
01:00
|
|
||
you got pretty hair
& I don't care what the neighbors call you
they don't know a damn thing about loving anyway
and me?
I'm not a cool kid.
I'm not a Grade A or a drop-out-of-school kid
but I got a dirt bike & a mineral tool kit
if you wanna look for gems today
we don't have to mess around with names
you & me are more of just the same sad story
so hop up on my dirt bike
I know a little spot where we can ride off dirt ramps if you wanna
already got an alibi for your mama
and you can tell me anything you like
out there in the woods on my dirt bike
|
||||
7. |
Problematic White Dudes
02:33
|
|
||
all the problematic white dudes
are forming a super group
they're getting coverage all over town
one blogger opines that it's not the right time
for their comeback with a link to buy their new single
watch the way it climbs the charts
& it corresponds to the outrage
some publicist gets a big raise
for turning this thing on it's face
the impressions are absolutely insane
on the flip side, in a garage
four kids confront the odds
they bang out songs like outlaws, clever & loud
one blogger responds, "I kinda like this song
but, honestly, there's no place on our site
this would belong at all."
but their fire burns from a trash can
lyrics scrawled on napkins
clawing through to make it happen
this whole act is
absolutely insane.
|
||||
8. |
Plot of Land
02:25
|
|
||
nobody wants to work no more
for seven dollars sweeping floors
when the place ain't busy,
you gotta find stuff to do
I'm gonna hitch my rickety old guitar
to a shotgun blast
'cause I'm looking forward to a life of purpose & mystery with you
$15 won't pay the rent
and that's a high wage- plus $.20 a year if you're lucky
to find a place so kind
but the health insurance premiums rise
and the politicians cast their lies like street craps,
and they sweep up every time
so baby I'm gonna find us a plot of land
with a little home to put a family in
and blackberrys growing near a garden bed out back
we'll get a chicken coup and a wood stove too
and I'll split logs in the yard with you
inventing a living out of living into our crafts
$20 barely pays the bills
and neither of us have the kind of skills to make that money
even if it seemed the way
we never wanted to be rich- just a better world
so we didn't prepare for having us a little girl
& the time we wanna give her every day
|
||||
9. |
Part & Parcel
04:16
|
|
||
I’ve been taking the train
From the dock to buy guitar strings
singing songs six days a week
I never really liked myself
I’ve been sleeping in late
I sold a song to a show on the TV
I made a couple bands
And I spend it on a string of dates with a penpal I will marry
and the time zones interweave
creating patterns
that I trace when I am lying
in my parents basement
take it all apart
it’s part and parcel
I came here with a strange and honest feeling
Chase all of your contradicting versions
Childhood perversions and dreams that never steered
Let them drive a little while
So that I can disappear
I’ve been living in my car
lost in a flea market, looking for my family
I met a girl in a little café
And along the way, we fell in love
I kissed her on the mouth
In a hammock, then we headed south
Now she’s screaming out a primitive yelp
And giving birth
And the time zones interweave
Creating patterns
That I trace and fall asleep
at a truck stop in my Malibu
take it all apart
it’s part and parcel
I came here with a strange and honest feeling
Chase all of your contradicting versions
Childhood perversions and dreams that never steered
Let them drive a little while
So that I can disappear into the great unknown
I am nameless
A coward called courageous by proxy of my trade
I will fade on an idea
Let it drive a little while so that I can disappear
|
||||
10. |
Gone But Not Forgotten
03:05
|
|
||
I covered up your gone but not forgotten tattoo
With a flower that refuses to remind me of you
Yeah, I know I said I never would get over it and I didn’t
But I reckon that it’s time now for this ghost of yours to move
On into the afterlife,
Get on into the afterlife
‘Cause honey I’m still alive
& sick of being haunted
After life
With your ghostly hand in mind
Catch me up on what you’ve done this whole time
But it’s time that I acted like I’m still alive
Who I been was so informed by you being around
Some still strings in me rattled in response to unheard sounds
There were notes I never noticed, never played until we met
And when you died, they settled and I haven’t heard them since
But I’ve got to stop this pining for a song that I can’t sing
These chords rely so heavily upon our harmony
|
||||
11. |
Occupied By Angels
03:45
|
|
||
I was born the day I held this old guitar
And I climbed between the strings out of a lonely heart
Writing poems in my skin with sharpie markers in the dark
I was born the day I held this old guitar
I was born the day they dunked me in the pool
Started carrying my bible between classes at the school
I wrote a language out of symbols, immune to ridicule
I was born the day they dunked me in the pool
I was born over and over
And reborn in a field of earth and clover
I am more than these wasteful contradictions
Aesthetic impositions
Of the early days; entranced by the unknown
Hypnotized by magic and terrified of dying all alone
I was born the day I first stepped on the stage
Collapsing with anxiety that’s stuck around with age
I was shaking but I sang until the room was changing shape
I was born the day I first stepped on the stage
I was born the day that I first read Rilke’s notes
Like letters from a father that I would never know
He breathed life into my labor, put some honey in my throat
I was born the day that I found Rilke’s notes
In the corner of my heart,
There is a cradle that I frequent
Unafraid to feel the frailty
Or the strain of trying to speak
It is occupied by angels
That coalesce inside me;
Ghosts of varied passions and beliefs
That are born & die & visit with each other while I sleep
|
||||
12. |
Performative
01:18
|
|
||
All of my cis friends laughing about
my tedious pronouns and how it's hard to keep up with all my names
like my existence is some unusual performance
and their gender is entirely natural
I know that new laugh, Jenny
you don't have to laugh like that
I know that smirk, Dakota
you been practicing it often between classes
all this shit is performative
all this shit is performative
all this shit is performative
so let me be myself & I'll let you be yourself, honey
|
||||
13. |
Company Man
01:03
|
|
||
I never wanted much to be a company man
(entrusted with the keys to the company van)
punch a clock to take a piss in the can
I never wanted much to be a company man
I never cared for a personal brand
It's just a little marketing sleight of hand
Pick an aesthetic, theoretically planned-
and call it original: a personal brand
I never profited from free-enterprise
was only preyed upon & charged to survive
plant a pecan try, they'll give you a fine
to move the wealth across a growing divide
I never thought myself a communist, though
a glass can only pour the things that it holds
but lately I've been filling pitchers with holes
wasteful with the things that I barely know
I never wanted much to be a company man
(entrusted with the keys to the company van)
punch a clock before you piss in the can,
I never wanted much to be a company man
|
||||
14. |
I Miss Playing Shows
01:54
|
|
||
I miss playing shows where all the people listen,
laugh when it's appropriate, slap their dirty hands,
give me their money, take home a CD,
listen to it once or twice, throw it in the trash
I miss the highway, I miss combo's
I miss the lies we tell ourselves to feel important
I miss the smell of smoke in disenchanted bar rooms
and the sinking sense the zeitgeist has grown beyond my reach
I miss playing shows
sandwiched between writers that give me fight or flight
with the poetry they wrote
send me down into violent introspection
swap them stickers, then get back to the road
I miss the highway, I miss combo's
I miss the lies we tell ourselves to feel important
I miss the smell of smoke in disenchanted bar rooms
and the sinking sense the zeitgeist has grown beyond my reach
(actually that's an experience that never really leaves)
|
Adeem the Artist Tennessee
Adeem is a seventh-generation Carolinian, a makeshift poet, singer-songwriter, storyteller, and blue-collar Artist.
Streaming and Download help
If you like Adeem the Artist, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp