From the Estate of the Lord Davis and Black Market Poetry Productions, in association with POW Recordings, come these limited-run cassette tapes of "Stalin Bollywood," Rhys Langston's noise-infused opus of invective.
Cover illustration by Caetano Santos
Design by Zoë Blair-Schlagenhauf
Includes unlimited streaming of Stalin Bollywood
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 4 days
$10USDor more
**Those who pay $10 or more will receive a download code for the whole album.**
A magazine-style look book featuring the lyrics from Stalin Bollywood and full color glam photos by Emily Berkey (with design and text by Rhys Langston).
Printed with 110lb paper stock on the front and back covers, illustrated by Caetano Santos and designed by Zoë Blair-Schlagenhauf.
Printed and disseminated by Black Market Poetry.
ships out within 4 days
edition of 50
$6USDor more
lyrics
I’m surrounded by dirty whiteboys
cleaning up after dirty whiteboys
washing dishes for these dirty whiteboys
making house for these dirty whiteboys
and I just can’t take it anymore
(you fucking serious over here?)
I can’t pin when it went all wrong
(when it went all wrong?)
is this the final curtain call?
(I think it is bruv)
or maybe I’ll just sink back ahh
(oh yeah yeah, just fuck it all yeah?)
dirty whiteboys
cleaning up after dirty whiteboys
washing dishes for these dirty whiteboys
like a maid for these dirty whiteboys
not a modicum of self-respect
(yo, you really gonna fucking do that yeah?)
inability to self-reflect
(oh man these fucking dudes man, oh fuck yeah?)
thought to co-inhabitants
(yo, you really gonna fucking do that?)
oh my god, this house is a wreck
surrounded by dirty whiteboys
picking up after dirty whiteboys
the behest of the dirty whiteboys
making house for these dirty whiteboys
yo I swear every fucking time I bring some shit up they would just be like, they would just not even acknowledge it. like I’m fucking here telling you something that we can all see, I don’t understand. like what the fuck is going on? you know, it just made me feel crazy, ‘cuz like, you know, I would say it gently, like very uh uh uh uh, with reconciliation, and they just wouldn’t listen. and, you know, it was just some entitled shit man, it’s some really it’s some fucking entitled shit. ‘cuz I gotta worry about how the fuck I look, how the fuck I smell, how the fuck I present to act, to people, and they don’t even fucking worry, becuz, you know, they’re just like judged for their person. they’re not judged for anything else, you know what I’m saying? like me. it’s some fucking bullshit!!!!
________
how come every time I come home from work, I get to come home to dirty dishes? it’s like you guys don’t even respect the space around here. cockroaches? maggots crawling out of the trash can? it’s like we’re living in a pig sty. we’re living in a pig sty, man. this isn’t college. I get to come home here every day and I get to do dirty dishes. pull your weight!!!!
the definition of idiosyncratic; a beautiful, raw odyssey through depersonalization and free association against the canon and toward a new one Rhys Langston
