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about

Doubting Thomas Cruise Control:
Bobby Cardos - guitars, vocals
Sean Kelly - guitars, yelling
Chris Sprindis - bass, yelling
Joe McCarthy - drums, vocals

Additional Cruisers:
Dan Murphy - acoustic guitar on Flyover State, feedback on $10 ATM, yelling on Bacardi Torched Children
Alex Boehm - violin on Backwards and Bacardi Torched Children

Recorded in Bed Stuy by DTCC. Mixed by Pete MacDuffie. Mastered by Rob Arbelo.

Cover photo courtesy Charlie Jordan (layout by DTCC)

“...one of the reasons they are afraid to speak is that the standards by which we live--black and white, north and south, in this country--are unlivable standards. It is not important to be safe. It is not important to get a car. It is not important to ‘make it.’ It is important to become a man. And this is what we have forgotten. And that is one of the reasons that the caliber of our political representatives has become one of the mockeries of the 20th century.” - James Baldwin

“I was dressed for success/I lived life on the run/In the end I was dead/But I had so much fun.” - DTCC

credits

released 22 April 2014

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Doubting Thomas Cruise Control Brooklyn, New York

Debt Punk from Brooklyn. Upcoming Shows:

6/20 - Cambridge, MA at the Democracy Center
6/22 - Brooklyn, NY (SLACKFEST)
6/24 - Philadelphia, PA at Kung Fu Necktie
6/25 - Pittsburgh, PA at Star Command
6/26 - Lafayette, IN or ??? (probably Rock and Roll Hall of Fame)
6/27 - Ann Arbor, MI or ??? (rest stop)
6/28 - Chicago, IL at The Throne Room
7/5 - Bar Matchless
7/8 - Palisades
... more

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Track Name: Flyover State
Sitting in the sick-lit present,
watching TV. Then we talk about the TV we watch.
Drinking beer
and trying to run out the clock.

In many ways we are complicit
Crystal meth, or dining sets, or placing bets
on a team that will lose;
on a stock that will crash

Always relying on imbalance:
if you win, it means I lose--and so I'd better win.
I don't care what it takes.
I don't know where it ends.

Nothing out there's really different.
Meat is murder, shopping's murder, driving's murder.
But, most of all,
don't forget that murder is murder.

We could talk it out in circles.
But I didn't make a case so's to start a debate.
I wanna pack my bags,
move to a flyover state.
Track Name: $10 ATM
I was listening to the radio.
They said the score was close

between the sinful and the righteous
in the full-court game of basketball
to decide the fate of the world.
The stakes were incalculable.

The referee was bribed,
the fouls were flying left and right.
The sinful body-checked the righteous,
and the righteous turned the other cheek and sighed,

"Just let me make this one free throw."

I was talking to a Cherokee.
He said, "Just tens please.

Because that bastard Jackson took me
and my family from Northern Georgia
on a Trail of Tears
into the arid depths of Oklahoma.

There were no amenities,
no remedies for the diseases
transferred via blankets that were
meant to signify a lasting peace.

They left us there, said, 'We gotta go.
But here's some whisky and a casino.'"

I was talking to a little girl.
She said the end was close.
Track Name: N.D.A.
I'm content placing bets
on horses that could scratch.
I digress to impress
just as much as to distract
from the task at your hands.
Such a bore.
From the dough that you rolled
and kneaded.
I needed
I needed to go out.

We shook hands at your bed
and said that it would pass.
First we hedged, then reneged.
Now the contract, it is lapsed.
I've expressed recalcitrance,
but right now
it's a feeling secondhand.
I feel it.
I feel it.
I feel it coming out.

Read the book. Take the test
to prove what we all know:
appendix is excess
in the body and the tome.
Such a beautiful phrase that you missed.
Have a seat; join the rest.
We're bleeding.
We're healing.
We're kneeling to the ground.
Track Name: Backwards
Someone humming a relevant tune.
Looking over, I thought it was you
with your aimless croon.

No one wanted to follow the stream.
I thought it'd sound better on me.

Most of the time I can't even start.
I'd rather die than make it art--
that's what they say.
I complain
that everything's moving backwards.

But everyone needs a place to go.
Nobody out there ever did it alone.

Singing for fun and singing for free.
Copyright law is useless to me--
it's stolen outright
the first time it's played, and ever after
the first time.
Everything's looking backwards.

There's no getting around
what's behind the sound:
LSD, GbV, NYC, etc.--
everything's looking backwards
to move on.
Track Name: Bacardi Torched Children
Every place is another place:
something else to commune about.
We take on love/hate relationships
with the places in which we live.
They define us only as we leave them.

New jobs are just new slavery--
but no one lets you call it that.
Renting out time for inadequate dimes.
Well then, what does that make your unpaid internship?

Your New York stare,
it won't help you here.
We don't fucking care
about your new job.
Your apartment,
what you pay for rent,
it's irrelevant to your person.

It's just shit you're sold.
They say, "Go for gold.
You are getting old,
and this world of debt is coming on you."

Drinking and golfing are much the same--
at least the way that I play golf.
I shoot a 75 and get out in time
to pick my friend up from the airport.

Build credit off your credit.
You've got a house you can borrow against.
But don't own it too quickly
cause that makes them nervous.
Paying down debt fucks with the profits.

Your New York stare,
it won't help you here.
We don't fucking care
about your new job.
Your apartment,
what you pay for rent,
it's irrelevant to your person.

It's just shit you're sold.
They say, "Go for gold.
You are getting old,
and this world of debt is coming on you."

I was dressed for success.
I lived life on the run.
In the end I was dead,
but I had so much fun.