Don't you worry children - radio edit Memories (feat. bottles, of any kind) charlie leo danny (i am a party)

net. None normal, all gorg.

We’ve spent two years in a band that doesn’t exist, just like a normal arm. It’s called Normalarms. As far as bands go, it tends more to the side of “idea of a band” than “music-making band.”

We’re a band of misfits, who generally fit in, except in the music industry, where music production is expected.

But I guess that’s the point. The humble beginnings of this hypothetical failure occurred in the Dark Tower southwest of the Rugby classrooms, not too far from here, unless you’re coming from out of town or traffic is bad. We were on the quad, the three of us, in desperate need of naps, tired to death of each other’s company. Hark! A piano in the distance! The rest is history –– please don’t ask.

There’s something about being in a band, telling people you’re in a band, and making dope album covers for your band that can’t be bought on the side of the road or picked off an apple tree.

The music might be fake, but the love most certainly is not. Like, look at the Beatles. Name one album, actually. They were first half of senior year — the times when turning inward was perhaps the easiest and most unhealthy reaction to stress — I had an outlet in my friends. Playing pickup basketball, going absolutely crazy at Skyzone and late-night drives down the Pacific Coast Highway kept me going through all of the adversity. Bottle flipping and bush camping were only as memorable as they were because of you guys. just the blokes from Liverpool, who chose one day to take over the world together, and I guess, in a way, that’s us. Bosch, innit?

Here’s a track called “About Paul McCartney”: If I lie / I can fly. / If I die / Please on rye / Toast to my friends / A Russian dress. / Do it again. / Big meat mess. / We are the reuben; / Coo coo kachew. (G, Am, E, Zmaj7)