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20 Minute Loop

by 20 Minute Loop

On the way to work And another route around She figured a way to work it out But still it managed to let her down It took a pirate, a gun, a trap A pile of nails to cut the crap For a dollar and a half She found her way around the track She piled the pelts, discarded the fat And threw the rest atop the scrap She tripped alarms, she left a trail She tried escape to no avail Forced my way through the door She hated dogs, aerosol, folding chairs A diagram and a book Is all she needed, all it took A bit of strength, a sharper hook A way to force herself to look She watched it shiver, she watched it shake She kept the nausea at bay Her terrible master plan Was nothing in her hands It sacked out, it made her tired She laid it down, she built the fire She ceased to care, she won't return She fucked it up, she let it burn Can't decide if there's more She hated dogs, aerosol, folding chairs, slot machines Marbles and corn Geraniums, highways and porn The final step Some said was wrong But now... she hated dogs
If it breaks down, guess it's my fault Lock me inside, turn out the lights I feel so lost left with the crowd You've got some nerve throwing me out The closer I get the smaller you seem You don't have shit if you lose me I can't back down if you pull that Don't you walk away, don't you walk away If it's not right, if there's no time get them out fast, I want them alive You can't go back if I break down Don't you walk away, don't you walk away Sort it out quick, you can't take both As much as you hold, much as you hold Forty-odd dead, looks like we're next Everybody out If it don't stop...
Veronica's car is like a disease Her hand on the stick She's parked behind the trees That circle the house Where her sister was born October the fourth A husband and wife With six hundred kids Dissolved in a glass Fingers clutching at her lips Slicked up with the lime You could pour on a corpse With a face like a horse Their love is like cake Cut four hundred ways Four hundred and one Bite down and salivate The sugar is strong Never mind how it tastes Smear it over you face Face like a horse (it's no one's fault) Wants a divorce That really hurts Stuck in reverse Soup kitchen face (it's all or nothing) Latex and lace Freaked out and sharp Four months in hell Don't hang up the phone Turn out all the lights And lay back in bed Concentrate on my voice I'm telling you lies You'll never forgive I'm telling you lies
Aeroflot 04:27
Rippled up steps form depths Never guessed at and less than A crippled blind chess set Sunk in a living room floor. Children on the headset, Daddy, can I fly the jet? Am I old enough to test it With defective hands, Young and soft and crabbed. The spoilers smack the air and drag. The constellations dip and sag. We didn't want to land... Communists! Off the roof, Off the roof. We can fly in the right state of mind. Strap on wings, Let her go, Let her go. We can fly, we can fly, we can fly... Shattered knees, Broken head, Left for dead. Cannot read DFDR, CVR. Her tongue won't move, All is lost, AEROFLOT. We can fly, we can fly, we can fly... On the right, left, follow left, fall left, Follow left, follow...
You're on your own now You wanna fight about it? You're next to nothing now It's all they write about And forgive, forget Which one you askin' Forgive, forget Which one you askin' for? Up on the hill You wanna fight about it? You wanna watch me now?
Disconnect 03:34
How will we come back? Come back, come back Burn down all the forest, it's not half of what we need I'd give it up, but it's enough to let it burn and bleed I disconnect it slowly and I let out all the air You can't divide your peace of mind if it was never there They're pushing back the children and they're sending out the cops I'd give it up but it's enough To burn...
It's much too late Put him to bed I'll break his neck Come on, come on... Who stands in the way of all the trouble you have caused? Old men sow the seeds of revolution once again You know so much. You know so much. You know so much.
Bunnyman and Chickengirl, Will meet and fall madly in love, They'll have lots of children that they will devour because they lack human restraint. Masturbate! Don't fornicate! These things we do are not real. They don't divine fortunes, they don't defeat crime, they might explode in your mind. (Repeat first verse.)
Hookworm 04:06
I am vermiform, I am so pasty white, On my face are platehooks, I just want to share. Once I dig right in, It's hard to get me out, You often have to cut me, Cut me from myself. If I make it through you, If I get in to this Ancylostomiasistic love affair If I make it through you...
It's easy No one seems to notice Believe me No one wants to know this Don't bother You don't need to force me It's over Let me out I'm freezing All my friends Once in a million Don't worry You don't have to answer I'm sorry Pull yourself together You lost it When you pushed me over Forget it I'm not worth the trouble All my friends Once in a million DROWNING They will say I went too easy Lost and under arms of lazy Forcing fleets of sleeping out Craving air your selfish mouth I am slipping down I am lifted out Forget me, we don't know what happened Rest my dear, we don't know what happened Oh, it's over Oh, it's easy


Debut album, released by Fortune Records

Fortune picked this up--like a penny on the sidewalk crusted with hardened chewing gum--long after we had our official release; in fact, I think it was when we were recording Decline of Day that Jim became interested. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship with Jim Greer. No one had to sleep with him (even though he's a hottie)--it was great. He just liked what he heard and decided to help us. This happens, like, never (in the voice of Tori Spelling).

The mysterious "Cannonball" helped us lay out the design of this album, patched together from laminated airline emergency cards I acquired from my brother's future husband (yay, California!), who, at the time, worked for a commercial airline. I also have a small collection of airline disaster books, and some of the chart imagery comes from the technical art in those books, manipulated enough to avoid copyright infringement (we hope). Because airline disasters are a slightly curious motif for an album cover, we tried to approach the sensitive subject from the vaguely anxious, oddly sterile side as opposed to the graphic grisly side that would offend virtually everyone who has ever found themselves in slight turbulence at cruising altitude. But, as I say in my notes to "Aeroflot," I can't deny my fascination. Now Kelly says disdainfully, "I'm so over the plane crash thing." I love that as a non sequitur; so much so, that I put her protest on a show flyer: at the top, "Is a Starry Plough an airplane?"; at the bottom, "Kelly says: 'I'm so over the plane crash thing.'" Well... I'm sorry to report: I'm not over the plane crash thing. Or the fruit bat thing. Or the Universal horror movie thing.

(The Starry Plough is a club in Berkeley, by the way.)

So, returning to my favorite subject, Judah Nagler (see notes to Decline of Day) designed a beautiful vertically oriented sticker of a stylized commercial jumbo jet plummeting to earth, but we had these printed just before 9/11. They're my favorite 20ML stickers, but they went over like a turd in the punch bowl at the time. I think "sick fucker" is what comes to most people's minds when I allude to my interest. But I also enjoy reading George Eliot novels! And I like swimming naked in mountain lakes!


released August 21, 1999

Greg Giles- Vocals and Acoustic Guitar
Kelly Atkins- Vocals and Keyboard
Joe Ostrowski- Electric Guitar
James Costello Kingsbury- Bass
Tai Kenning- Drums and Percussion

Engineered, Mixed and Produced by Chris Manning
Recorded and Mixed at Owl Mountain Recoding in Inverness, California
Mastered by George Horn at Fantasy Studios in Berkeley, California
CD Design and Layout: Cannonball

Dedicated to George and Ilda Giles


all rights reserved



20 Minute Loop San Francisco, California

Original music for the hook-hungry mob, the nervous foot, the jaded indie-phile.

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