A true accident if there ever was one; Bad Books was never an intended nor calculated side project of Kevin Devine and Manchester Orchestra’s Andy Hull. Though the two musicians have collaborated and performed together on tour and within the Favorite Gentlemen community of artists for years now, the genesis of Bad Books came from a simple idea to fill space and time off the road by collaborating on a small batch of songs together at the top of the year. With no agenda and no expectations, what was birthed just one week later was Bad Books, a fully realized album encompassing five compositions each from both Devine and Hull, with the members of Manchester Orchestra filling out the sound and the band. The self-titled debut will be released October 19th, 2010 via Favorite Gentlemen Recordings, the record label that was founded and has been run by Manchester Orchestra since 2007.


As songwriters go, Hull and Devine could not be further apart in terms of creative approach. The methodical wordsmith Devine, an English major from Fordham, is known to pine away for great lengths of time just to accurately pin-point one word within a lyric. “I was doing a take of ‘You’re A Mirror I Cannot Avoid’ and stopped myself for fifteen minutes because I was having trouble justifying ending two lines in the same chorus with the word ‘back.’ Just sitting there, staring at the screen, writing different word choices. I asked Andy if he thought it mattered, and he said, ‘Of course it doesn’t.’ Somewhere in that exchange is I think what differentiates us as songwriters. I think Andy trusts his instincts to lead him to the right place in a song, and sometimes I want to outthink my instincts because I’m scared of repeating myself, of resting on my laurels. And I think together, those two approaches meshed really, really well,” Devine said.


Hull echoes that sentiment: “Kevin is very meticulous, where I came in with a few ideas and fleshed them out literally as we were recording. Kevin’s songs were awesome and he was cool enough for me to throw in some ideas to change a part or add a bridge here or there.”


In contrast to previous outputs from Manchester Orchestra and Devine, Bad Books cradles a much more noticeable pop aesthetic and energy than either artist has probably ever showcased before. Nowhere is this more evident than in songs like “You Wouldn’t Have To Ask” and “Holding Down the Laughter”.


Engineered by Robert McDowell (of Manchester Orchestra) with help from drummer Ben Homola, and mixed by Chris Bracco (of Devine’s ‘Goddamn Band’), Bad Books progressed in the most organic and natural way possible. Free from any boundaries or restrictions, Devine and Hull were able to craft a beautiful body of melodies, highlighting arcs of high and low throughout, and utilizing the stark imagery and storytelling for which both of them are known. “There was no governing framework,” Devine says: “No, ‘let’s write these kind of songs and say these kind of things’. We just wrote, arranged and played each song to its end, followed where it led, and I think it brought us both to some pretty unexpected places.”


For Devine, Hull, and the rest of Manchester Orchestra, choosing the direction of the road less travelled resulted in sonic harmonies and woven textures that meshed what these best friends do best. Some accidents were just meant to be.


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Lyrics:

The Easy Mark & The Old Maid

some men collapse at the race track
bet wrong and beat up their eyes black
others wilt in casinos
roll dice and piss away speedboats
some dissolve into bar stools
scratched off and boxed into playoff pools
i spent myself on a psychic
i lost my way and a friend said she would find it

but man you were wrong
man you were wrong
i asked for the future
but she only sang me a song

some men they go make their own luck
grow fat from feeding on lame ducks
the easy mark and the old maid
the invalid and the ingrate
others wait for that high sign
some holy hoax in the treeline
me, i’m counting my canned food
bunkered down, waiting out our slingshot moods

But what if I’m wrong?
Oh, what if I’m wrong?
I’ll open my doors up
The wind will come sweep me along

My eyes are fixed and my palms are spread
Dissonance floods my shipwrecked head
God sleeps in the Gaza Strip
And man alone’s left to live with it
The coin flip faith of the optimist
his beginner’s luck and his sewing kit
but what to do when there is NO FIX
only unflinching ambivalence

you say that’s wrong
hopeless and wrong
well, re-thread your needle
for your sake i’ll play along

You’re A Mirror I Cannot Avoid

I caught you caterwauling, giving grief
Thought you were cannonballing after me
I let your actions speak for themselves
And wished you well

But you’re a mirror I cannot avoid
Strung out and jittery and paranoid
A leaky battery that can’t keep charged
Get in the car

And say what you mean
Explain yourself to me
I’ll try not to judge you more than you would
Let me help
I promise not to tell
Not like anyone’s asking
Or like anyone should

First time I met you I was filled with fear
Knew that eventually you’d disappear
Right when I needed you you’d burn to smoke
And off you’d go

Just come back
Peel away the mask
Lay here beside me
And open your eyes
Take it back
Your dignity, your tact
Turn back to the person
You tried to let die

I caught you nesting with your analogue
Glassy-eyed from kissing poison frogs
Becoming infinite against his couch
Open your mouth

And say the words
You used to wish you heard
Back when you focused
Enough to be good
And if you’re gone
An endless false alarm
Remember I loved you
As long as I could

Holding Down The Laughter

Styrofoam cup of mud in my good hand
Disembodied voice of God in the trash can
Eyes in the ashes, feeling for the future
Sleeping through the stake out, researching the rumor
A mile, a motor, a mattress, a memory
At first you were embarrassed
But how could you not be?
Tangled and teenaged, mom at the movies
Your voice ran out of words
It was awkward and holy

The gospel in your belly
The ache a little lower
Back into the breach
You spoke as its owner
A syndicated sermon you sang from the rafters
An anchor in your pocket
Holding down the laughter
Tearing up your mind
Your lust and your ego
A slingshot reminder to speed your libido
The parish goes to jelly
Blissful and wasted
Your Vishnu eye slips open
And pictures them naked

In complicating your worst mixed message
You built then burnt a bridge
Then scattered all your crumbs at the cliff
“If she wants me, she’ll swim for it”

Brother, can you spare your alms or your arrows
The thunderclaps are rising and I think that I should go home
To the basement back on Jumel Street
1996 and you’re waiting there to tell me
“I never died – you dreamt it, you dreamt it
I am as alive as your best good intentions
I’m sorry that I tricked you but you had to focus
Put yourself together and clear out the garbage”

But for all that effort
That slow burn struggle
You forgot where you lived
She swept away the clues from the cliff
You’re lost now
Remember it
She swept away the clues from the cliff
You’re lost
Now, remember it.

You Wouldn’t Have To Ask

your crooked days come bundled up in bunches
they break your brain like a branch
and push you out here asking after something
you should know i don’t have
cuz if i had it you wouldn’t have to ask
yeah, if i had it, you wouldn’t have to ask

later on, when you bargain with your mirror
and you ask, “is it really that bad?”
well if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have to ask
yeah, if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have to ask

how could you know if you didn’t?
what’s left to say when your tongue’s turned to ash?
i’d tell you you’re fine and forgiven
so you wouldn’t have to ask

you shoot what’s left, slip inside your sinner’s smile
another man in a mask
but if you faced it, you wouldn’t need a mask
if you meant it, you wouldn’t need a mask
if i could fix you, you wouldn’t have to ask
if i could help you, you wouldn’t have to ask

Mesa, AZ

We passed 800 miles talking circles about living with loss
You said your sense of humor’s always helped you get above & across
Every hurdle, every chasm, every shocking & unspeakable blow
Just proves the universe is chaos so you laugh to clear the lump from your throat

But if you’re fixed on being bitter
Go be bitter on your own
We’re still two hours from El Paso
Arizona’s such a long way to go

The chemicals were coursing through our bloodstreams at incongruous rates
I was time-traveling inward through a past life I can never erase
You were hanging out the window, you said: “We’re just a beggar’s banquet in space”
You were laughing at the moon, you were cursing it for wearing your face

Me & New Mexico are orphans
Or is it bastards? Either way:
I know a guy in Roswell
We’ll hitch a moonride, steal you back your face

You sleep and whistle “Blackbird” backwards
While my eyes cut her name in clay.
You wake to Mesa, Arizona
Say, “Let it go. She’ll change her mind someday.”
You took the wheel in Mesa, Arizona.
Said, “I got the rest, man.
You can drift away.”