by Lowest Point

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released February 24, 2015

All tracks written and performed by Lowest Point.
Additional vocals on track 3, and trumpet on tracks 1 and 5 by Kasey Sikora.
Album artwork by Alec McKay.
Logo by JP Spanbauer and Alec McKay
Guitars and drums recorded with Ian Boddy at Pirate
Mixed and Mastered by Logan Broger


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Lowest Point Toronto, Ontario

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Track Name: Don't Start a Family
All the reproductive slighted, upset with their lives. Spawned versions of the parents themselves, (along with) the stupid ideals they mime. Glum faces on the bus with strollers in tow, disinterested with the fascinations their kid shows. Another question, another question, always with the fucking questions. When will my offspring become as world weary and impartial as I am? Settle them down and knock them out. Throttle their curiosity and foster their doubts. Make phantoms of pain and truth. Show symptoms of imperceptible gloom. Teach them to draw strength from your backwards tribalism. Impeach their disdain for you while lamenting this schism. True to plan, they’ll never talk to you again.
Track Name: Bad at Hugs
Cloistered at the urinal. Vying for pity. Harmless in gait. It ain't pretty. The odeon cringes at the burning bridges. Zeta male trailing increments of; the world beyond this. In absentia.
Track Name: Best Years Behind
Inside the thoughts of the seminal era/huddled in masses/perennial fear/threats to provisional lives engaged/sweat comes down like rain from the upper tiers/ It’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over/ so kill this fucking planet/Drenched in fumes or thrashing in tar, fucking life behind the bars/a life worth lived inside the brackets, it's humanity's first and final will so kill this fucking planet
Track Name: Weep for the World
Under the canopy-piercing albedo: The branches wean us year by year away from its oppressive face, radiating His hound's din that pierces the canopy further as leaves discolour and fall, until only their ligneous fingers cloy from the excruciating white light; the malevolence of a reminder, and a tear-strained prayer and plea bargain for paradise dissipated in its carcinogenic glow.
Track Name: It's Not Enough to Just Survive
Let us bray... Like asses middling in a fog and free, like those limp-dick prophets muling un-mystery, getting red in their loins for epistemology, their hairlines recede with corollary, their beer guts abdicate shamefully. You’re intellectuals when your needs are met and predators when your rank is set. While the door to door mystics prattle fatuously about trinities, the atheistic tyrants puke misogyny, you’re a cunt hair away from totality, fuck you, you're a spineless, obtrusive banality.

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