betrayed by the game lyrics
Wolf Parade is back. And in the indie bedrock luminaries’ aboriginal feature anthology in seven years, choir Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner are belting their hearts out assimilate the table in accurate Wolf Parade fashion. Cry Cry Cry has all the activity of a sugar-filled toddler tucked into bed with a absolute of dejection.
["1241.6"]Dance Gavin Dance - Betrayed by the game sub español - YouTube | betrayed by the game lyricsIn “Valley Boy,” the album’s aboriginal single, the bandage provides a basin abounding to the border with sonic sweets. It deepens and spills over, the drums, guitars and vocals trading centermost date and arena off of anniversary added like actors in a accurate drama. The accountable of the ball appears to be a David Bowie-esque figure, a admired accompanist absent to the branch of the asleep whose aftermost appearance in activity holds some mystery. (And who’s to say it’s not Bowie himself? The figure is a acclaimed access of the band, afterwards all.) The lyrics are accusatory; they complete as if they are announced by a addled fan or old acquaintance of the acclaimed songster. Krug asks the asleep accompanist questions he can’t answer: “Are you still a lover boy? / Are you still on the awning or / Did you become a basin boy out there?” He obsesses over how this accompanist could accept possibly absent his admirable and aboveboard disposition, and he dreads this betrayal. This abhorrence is a attenuate blind for grief. Affections argue and cull Krug in every direction, but his abashing sounds so good.
Similarly ambiguous is Cry Cry Cry’s additional single, “You’re Dreaming.” Boeckner grabs the mic to bewail the conceiving of the advice age in a acquiescently acrimonious number. Although the dream is a bad one demography abode in a fantasy apple inseparable from abandon and destruction, there’s so abundant action in its sound. The song introduces itself with the bold staccato of a keyboard. Guitars electrically braid in and out of the melody, allowance to drive the exhausted advanced in the verses and amalgam afire bridges amid them. Lyrics and sonics arise into the deceptively celebrating bark of an alone trapped in a bad dream.
["465.6"]Shinigami 死神 (@bandtherapy101) | Instagram photos and videos | betrayed by the game lyricsWolf Parade isn’t abashed to booty risks on their improvement album. The beeline “Incantation” is them at their best absolute and unafraid. The bandage unleashes a horn area afterwards the song’s aboriginal dive into cacophony, a tornado of ablaze keys and active guitars. The guitars win out with beginning addendum but bound cull aback to let the piano activate a bull amble that aloof as bound reconvenes with its active co-conspirators, who by the end of it are bawl and stomping their feet. Where “Incantation” is a advised advance into chaos, “Flies on the Sun” is a befuddled advance through the backbreaking bank of time. By its fourth and final minute, you’re ambiguous on the border of collapse. By the end, you’re one of abounding “flies on the sun, lying there.”
All of these songs, however, are bite-sized treats compared to the king-sized “Baby Blue” and “Weaponized.” These six-minute advance accomplish up the amount of the album, and they are a one-two that reckons with the best of them. The abundant ascendancy and aberration Wolf Parade displays in these ability ballads is the bandage at its best impressive. “Baby Blue” is an ballsy affectation of the band’s capability. It sounds like a action royale demography abode in a adaptable that’s careening about corners and through mountains. “Weaponized” is a bit added measured. A accomplished aggregate of afraid activity and bleeding body backs Boeckner’s singing about a action with yourself that feels like a action adjoin the world.
["465.6"]Dance Gavin Dance - Betrayed By The Game (Official Music Video ... | betrayed by the game lyricsModern-day abreast is absolutely a alternating theme, but Wolf Parade is not adage they accept any solutions for it. While Krug tangles himself in the affliction of abreast on “Am I an Alien Here,” Boeckner begs for it on “Artificial Life.” He pleads for some accord and quiet in a soundscape like the apple of a burst arcade bold that he’s been sucked into. What the bandage assuredly arrives at, though, is a question. The closing track, “King of Piss and Paper,” is a brainwork on the political and amusing accompaniment of the world. Wolf Parade asks if it’s accept to sing about adulation and ourselves at this time in a geopolitical ambiance led by a abhorrence and hate-mongering papier-mâché man. This “king” threatens people’s means of activity and, in a way, adulation itself. So is it amiss to avoid him to appear to ourselves and anniversary other, alike if for a second? Isn’t it amiss that it feels that way?
This fear, this hatred, these illusions and their accessory animosity of overstimulation and breach angle advanced and centermost in the album. What Wolf Parade did with Cry Cry Cry was accord articulation to those affections of the avant-garde age that agitate in the chaos. They gave us a carefully admirable exhibition of the affection of the times.
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