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by 20 Minute Loop

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mylifeisajoke thumbnail
mylifeisajoke Someone once mislabled a Silversun Pickups track as "Miriam Hopkins," on napster. As a result, I am forever grateful to you people and that person.
ravenofroses thumbnail
ravenofroses heard this in 2005 and couldn't stop thinking about it. couldn't find the artist for the first couple years, so i gave up. then, a few days ago, i tried again, i'm in love all over again. so thrilled to have found this band after all those years. Favorite track: Miriam Hopkins.
Parking Lot 01:49
I'm not done I have more to say before the chorus comes straight ahead don't look back back and forth is such a bore Chorus, bridge, verse and solo stringing hooks along the shoreline until you score One more time let me hear the song that makes the hair rise on my arms The radio's on the supermarket parking lot you wait for the song to turn around
Cora May 04:31
Under skies that pulse with sound you force it down, the memory still posing as ardor No disguise can save you now I'm still around, ingredients to dull the glitter Bright-eyed doll, so full of fear and crafted all too carefully And now you leave me here to wonder The home you make may bend and break underneath nostalgia's weight when I return again to haunt you
Then she saw the streets between the crumbled knees of ruined queens, Statues torn apart from every time her children fought, A pack of hungry dogs that lick her hands and howl at mournful sounds From smokeless, lonely towers, The cold wind pushing up their empty mouths. You're not alone--Godforsaken, maybe--but you've got a brand new home. They creep over glass, the missing tears of Lincolns, Cadillacs, Millions of themselves, the city's salt that glitters from the ground. You're not alone... Your room's near the top, where spiders tie your dreams in silky knots, A board game made of wood, your head against the sloping roof, A game devised by men who serve the caliph's court and study sand, The properties of dirt, the smallest stones that work their way through her. You're not alone...
Tell me a story that ends with a gunshot A smack to the side of the head Please don't divulge all the details that bore us Just skip to the end Whittle him down to a splinter of dignity Eyes with a shade of mascara she smeared on him I wanna walk back home holding the hand of a- I wanna walk back with her Oh, what did I say, you cannot survive my curse Once you lay down here Why don't you take me away Oh, with a twist on his sore little headstand He fell for the pleasure of children who baited him They didn't smile at his skill as an acrobat Only to laugh as he slipped and upset All the flowers arranged in a dirty milk bottle He kept by the portrait of Miriam Hopkins The smiling lieutenant's adorable suitor He heard her sing Clair De La Lune
Book of J 05:51
Almost a fable where dogs are enabled to speak like boys Almost a reptile, splayed in the sunshine, missing it's tail Almost a landmark covered in spraypaint, thumbtacks and nails Almost a red star, a polaroid flash a gleam in her eye It's best not to mock her, sobbing and coughing, slumped on the stairs Spiraling through the same ugly building all of us shared Goddamn the stench, the smell of the garbage bags tossed in the hall Witnesses gathering, too scared, Jehovah waits out on the lawn He's standing outside near basketball nets made of chain Baring his teeth before children who wait to play a quick game I'll beg a little (let's just stay here a while) just enough to take your mind (won't you please come inside?) off of the trouble (I'm afraid of the dark) I'll fix the clocks when we get back the lights (so quiet tonight) Just one thing at a time You're not so heavy or tortured or comfortable or totally distinct Almost a red star, a polaroid flash a gleam in her eye It's best not to mock her, sobbing and coughing, slumped on the stairs Spiraling through the same ugly building all of us shared
Several were shot to hell, brought through the back door, they sat down and plucked out their eyes. Shut up and bring me the head of the Spaniard on acid who stole every filling of gold that they dropped in my teeth, Notice how much she keeps tabs on the past- -six miles, we've seen no signs of life, She laughed and stuck her gum Against the side of my thumb. On the gearstick, passion is measured in Kelvin. You and your Icelandic ancestors' eyes. Too much exposure is likely to rip you from laurels that no one deserved, Least of all, you and your feeble desire for a million admirers who dote on dead and their corpulent filth. Notice how much she keeps tabs on the past. Oh, my traveling days cut short by the grave, Dismantled by fear and Japanese trains that fly through the air, And land on the hoods of Indian rickshaws, Their motors dissolved by all of the salt, That's gathered in Texas, where Portuguese widows Eat catfish and curse us, American fruitcake she left on the doorstep, So foreigners hate us.
Stuck between seventeen million dreams We'll carve pumpkins with our broken hands I don't wanna trick or treat dressed as you Boring, boring My girlfriend has a bloodstained axe in one hand while the other grips the hair of a severed head that she stole one night from a mannequin I'll make love to a ghoul tonight with wax teeth and a bulging eye Blood shot club-footed creep of mine You've changed You've changed
Ambassadors 04:04
The book is slow and reads as though he paced the room and had his secretary write the words he spoke A legal brief, a dictaphone And then my eyes were lifted by the mortal slap, the screeching tires I'd rather read this book than take a look The dead can speak in books and charm the lives of abject souls like mine A strangers death cannot deliver love, or truth, or anything but shock I sat down and cried Henry James can't lie If E.M. Forester loved this book enjoyed, endorsed the time it took to read the book, I'll sit and read and mute the scene I saw in spite of what I said Her crooked nose, her yawning mouth, Her pantyhose The pubic bone, the shattered glass, The smell of gas Her grocery bags are scattered by my feet Just get up and leave
5 AM to 9 AM 05:18
Lucy steps up, finds a way to catch the crowd blowing smoke rings from the corner of her mouth Come ye all to know the wonders of the world! Shield your eyes well as the curtains are unfurled 5:00 A.M., our unit's led to fields adjacent to the dig Pulled up bones and tufts of hair Reporters stalk, their lenses stare You will now recall the dreams you thought you lost Saved from peril as their ship was torn and tossed My first love is in my arms She traces lines that mark my palm Every nerve too tightly strung to sense our fragile lives undone But when I wake the feeling's gone You'll remember what you lost Sink in further, you will know just what you lost Go down deeper, dig down deeper You'll recover 9:00 A.M., I'm on my knees in fields that featured in my dreams Tagged the bones and bits of hair There's something too familiar here My first love is in my arms She traces lines that mark my palm Every nerve too tightly strung to sense our lives undone
Bitter-tounged and strung out I try to keep my lunch down Yellow pads and needles My hell is other people Here we see that nature is such a ruthless teacher nothing's accidental and you're already spent We played our William Tell soaked in gin with benzedrine I never shot so well And they believed me Semi-automatic so lurid and traumatic for my preservation I'll write it down again We played our William Tell soaked in gin with benzedrine I never shot so well And they believed me You're always slouching, Joan, and where's the child gone to now? He'd rather be alone than see the bloodstain on your brow The Federales play a round of blackjack with my change The suits don't steer the game, but they believed me, didn't they?
Never cared a thing about me... Now I'll never forget you


This CD is SOLD OUT! Available as a download right here!

I like how Nils puts "SOLD OUT" in capital letters, as if selling a couple thousand CDs over several years is an indication of a wild, burning desire on the part of consumers to acquire this highly coveted item. Well... in a way, he's right. For us, this is a minor coup. In the world of the internet (the robot voice says moving its stiff arms up and down), there will be no such thing as "SOLD OUT"--we offer most of our music as downloads.
Having said that, I will resume my luddite's voice and say that there is something to holding the physical artwork integrated in the packaging of a CD or vinyl LP or 7" single. For example, the difference between a high-gloss insert and a matte finish insert... the tactile sense of holding one or the other. I'd rather hold a "dirty" bomb than a copy of Maxim. And not even because it's a "man magazine." It's just that glossy, pages-stuck-together with static, smelly, shiny sterility. Icky! What is that smell caught in those pages? Like the smell of an overworked copy machine, or something. You could ask why I'm smelling a copy of Maxim. Or just let sleeping dogs lie.
Sophie, a young friend of mine, did all of the artwork and lettering for the inside of the insert of this CD. She was eleven or twelve at the time. Now she's about fifteen, sixteen, something like that... She's the daughter of my ex-girlfriend, by the way. It's not like I met her in a park somewhere. Give me SOME credit. First you think I'm smelling copies of Maxim, then you think I'm befriending prepubescent girls in public parks.


released February 22, 2005

Greg Giles- Vocals, Guitar
Kelly Atkins- Vocals, Synths, Rhodes, Flute, Accordion
Joe Ostrowski- Guitar
Nils Erickson- Bass, Guitar, Rhodes, Pedal Steel Guitar
Mike Romano- Drums

Additional musicians:
Morty Okin- Trumpet on I'll Never Forget You
Carroll Ashby- Trombone on I'll Never Forget You
Ethan Diamond- Baritone Sax on I'll Never Forget You
Horns arranged by Nils Erickson

All songs arranged and performed by 20 Minute Loop
"I'll Never Forget You" written by Bob Mould, Granary Music (BMI) administered by BUG

Produced by Nils Erickson and 20ML
Mixed by Scott Greiner
Basics by Desmond Shea at Closer Recording in SF
Additional recording at Palace Recording (R.I.P.), SF Soundworks, and our homes Oct '03- May '04 by Nils Erickson
Thanks to Boone Spooner for assistance at SF Soundworks
Artwork: Sophia
Design: Greg Giles
Layout: Bill Rousseau
Photography: Nikki Pratchios

Released on Fortune Records

Also thanks to Aaron Prellwitz who mixed the 7" version of Cora May at Tiny Telephone in SF


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20 Minute Loop San Francisco, California

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

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