Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
The Only Living Boy might be hanging on for dear life. It's almost assured that he's got liver problems. When he's thirsty, the first thought is to reach for and then hit the bottle of whiskey, hard. If that gets drained, someone's going to have to go out for another one because this thirst is a son of a bitch to quench. The bottles will pile up, kicked to the side or off the front step.
The New Jersey band, led by singer/guitarist Joe Cirotti, bassist Eric Curley and drummer Trevor Newcomb bang out the old notions of living hard and picking or, not picking up the pieces later on, when the swelling in the eyes has gone down and the light of the day has been blunted to acceptable levels. These scuzzed up rock and roll songs portray the lives of men who live vicariously through no other. They are too busy doing whatever it is they want to do, whenever it is that they want to do it, already. They are the keepers of the carpet, the makers of their own fortune, even if the only fortune they seek is uninterrupted sexual escapades and barrels and barrels of booze.
These are songs that speak a general nature of not needing to be ashamed of just letting it go without saying that there are going to be some trying times living with these characters. They might not bring home the bacon. It depends how much the whiskey costs. They are likely going to have wandering eyes. They're going to ask for forgiveness more often than they're going to ask for permission. They're going to try the patience of every babe they know, every babe they've gotten involved with, but the good nights will always be epic for them. They're crow and break things together before falling sloppily and happily into one another's beds for a great sleep.