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Misfit's Jubilee

by Jim White

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    Limited Pyschedlic Edition LP + CD. Blue/Yellow Marbled Vinyl, limited to 100 copies.

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    (photo not reflective of actual color)

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Blue/Yellow Marble Vinyl. Limited to 150 copies.

    LP to be delivered by end of NOVEMBER due to LP manufacturing delays

    Includes unlimited streaming of Misfit's Jubilee via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 4 days
    edition of 150 
    Purchasable with gift card

      $30 USD or more 

     

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Classic Black!

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    Purchasable with gift card

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Includes unlimited streaming of Misfit's Jubilee via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 4 days
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      $13 USD or more 

     

1.
I’m a monkey in a silo I’m a junkie in a shadow I’m a flunky running errands I’m working for the man… I’m a little bitty parcel in a big old suitcase. I’m a top secret harebrained plan I don’t feel no pain, so I don’t mind I got a whole hour to kill before the bus leaves. So slap me a high five, do a little hand jive. I’m buzzing like a beehive, I’m a monkey in a silo. They say nobody’s perfect. They say nothing is real. so I guess that explains why I really feel like no one… Can’t think about nothing, won’t get ahold of zero, don’t go nowhere till, this goddamn bus leaves. Here nobody loves me, Here nobody hates me Here nobody knows exactly where I hid that money. Funny ship don’t sink, funny shit don’t float, funny miss the boat, I’m a monkey in a silo. Wonder where I’d be if I was never born my little bitty atoms just scattered everywhere. I’m part of the elbow of the Venus de Milo. I’m in Einstein’s brain I’m a money in a silo And this circle of life, well it’s a fucking joke! Exacted one everyone by God Almighty, Tell Walt Disney, Sigmund Freud and that kid named Beaver I’m a monkey in a silo.
2.
Man them firecrackers in my suitcase, about set the whole damn motel ablaze. O’course a motel's as good a place as any to let your demons fly. Then on the morning after, amidst the blessing of silence I heard the policeman say it was a miracle I was alive. Well this I can’t say, ‘cause I don't know, though I’m fond of such foolish conjecture for in the sweet countdown to nothing, nothing’s better than a fools reminder… That wonders never cease, wonders never cease, wonders never cease For God don’t make the river straight—hey-hey my friend….now does he? Bus station in Oxford Mississippi. Man this crossword puzzle’s talking to me! It’s spelling out a word so true it hurts, I have to put down the paper! The Snap-on man gives me a ride, tries to witness to me, I tell him sir the fruits of your insights are luminous limitations! Listen one man's heaven is the next man's hell, bother, even the word love is a prison! If we're saved by grace it's just as well… in fact it's the perfect contradiction. Seeing that wonders never cease, wonders never cease, wonders never cease, For God don’t make the river straight—hey-hey my friend….now does he? Now I'm lying in some tall weeds, with a divorcee from Texas. We proclaim ourselves the ruler of an undiscovered empire and in this life we'll settle for nothing less! We got our outcast destiny, we feel the bright light of knowing. We ain’t ashamed of our past 'cause it is undone by our present beholding We're holding a funeral for our fears, tap dancing on the grave of dead religion. Pooh-pooh the company of so called saints to run wild in the fields of redemption. Shouting wonders never cease, wonders never cease, wonders never cease… For God don’t make the river straight—hey-hey my friend….now does he?
3.
Some days you’re riding that lucky hand. Holding in your palm one grain of sand. But it’s shining bright like a diamond ring. Whispering you can do anything yeah-yeah… When we kicking it round and round in love, round and round we spin… kicking up and down we’ll fly. thrashing ’til them chains  'till them chains give in. You can’t testify about no highway until you come home again… being more than just the sum  of what you’ve been. Now some days you’re flying at the speed of sound. Juggling dreams you lost and keys you found. But what's here today, tomorrow’s gone. We all of us must just keep moving on…  head held high. yeah-yeah Kicking it round and round in love, round and round we spin… kicking up and down we’ll fly. thrashing ’til them chains  'till them chains give in. You can’t testify about no highway until you come home again… being more than just the sum  of what you’ve been. If life’s a hairpin turn on a lost highway. Let us surrender, close our eyes and pray. that for every hardship you and I have known… that our sorrows circle back around to help pave the way on that big highway that carries all us restless souls back home. Yeah, let’s take it on home. Kicking it round and round in love, round and round we spin… kicking up and down we’ll fly. thrashing ’til them chains  'till them chains give in. You can’t testify about no highway until you come home again… being more than just the sum  of what you’ve been.
4.
Where would I be if I was not myself? What would I be doing right now? Would I be an old man saying my prayers or a nun dreaming of some football players? Would I be walking down the street in Paris, France shooting the shit with Anais Nin? Making fun of all her complicated ideas? I wonder where would I be without you? And where would I be if I was not so poor? Would I be any happier than I am now? I mean how much money could I stuff in my brain before I went completely crazy? Become a homeless man in a snowstorm. Singing mule train like Boxcar Willie. Just laughing at the terrible hunger that I feel? I wonder where would I be without you? And where would I be if my parents never met? Would I have been born in Africa? And if I caught a glimpse of my possible self, would I reach out to embrace the hand? Of that man in the center of the fire, that joker from God’s black car, that laughing Buddah from Cleveland? I wonder where would I be without you?
5.
I see the Jack-o-lanterns in your smile, the liquor store’s about two miles away, like every day’s not Halloween like we’re not crashers at life’s masquerade, the big charade the dumb parade the price you pay when you set your ass on fire and call yourself a jet plane. I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply. I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply. My friend are lost apostles they search for missing saviors in malls and supermarkets. My hearts like an RV run out of gas I got nowhere to park it. My pocket’s empty, My sockets dry. The jocks are watching so I can’t even cry… God I’d sell my soul for a two bit lie… Some bullshit piece of pie in the sky… I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply. I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply. Sucker punches come in bunches laying bets and playing hunches yeah yeah. Tossing rocks in funky ditches trading licks with bitchy prime queens, yeah yeah… One day, I’m gonna make my play, gonna hit the stage and have my say with my guitar…gonna me be a star watch me rocks the socks off the kids in the cars throwing down hard, got my signature sound, check the fan base, yeah they jumping around singing hey ho ho hey listen to the loser play paid his dues now he’s okay never more he got to say… I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply. I’d sell my soul for smart… a smart ass reply.
6.
Remember the days when the clouds would hang low and no one would know that above the sky was blue? Then one day planes flew up above the clouds… the pilots returned and everyone learned… That the sky is blue not gray what a thing to say it’s amazing the facts they reveal every day! There goes another mystery and it seems strange to me but one thing I know will always be unreliably true that’s the undeniable mystery of you-you-you. Now down in the valley the kids play guitars. And they ride in their cars ’til the road makes them old. Then they sit on the fenders and wonder what’s true. Well I wonder too but what can you do… When the sky was blue not gray what a thing to say it’s amazing the facts they reveal every day! There goes another mystery and it seems strange to me, but one thing I know will always be unreliably true that’s the undeniable mystery of you you you you. Now down in the valley the children all wonder at the blue up above and the gray of down under. Me I stand alone just struck by the thunder of the unreliable Undeniable inconceivable unbelievable mystery of you-you-you.
7.
Got a suicide knob on this hopped up Pontiac GTO at that bend in the road that leads down along the Gulf of Mexico. She’s sleeping now resting her head right upon my heart. And I love this girl so much I think I might die. Outside a wild wind is blowing… feels like the car is moving a little too fast. She’s got a secret that she’s withholding. Seems like I’d be the first to know but I think I’m the last… to realize that we’re going nowhere, going nowhere on this highway of lost hats. Oh, beautiful girl are you drinking that turpentine again? Does it make all them ghosts go dancing around in your brain? I remember you saying how hard life was—that they haunt you bad. But lately it seems to me them ghost are the only friends you wanna have. Why can’t you feel these wheels a’ turning? See the light coming up in the darkness ahead? It’s our fine mansion and it is burning. But she don’t even stir as we go speeding past. This little girl she’s lost in her dream world, and me I’m going nowhere fast. Just speeding down this highway of lost hats. There’s nothing ahead of us now but blacktop for miles and miles. And I wish she’d just wake up and say the words I already hear. ‘Cause there’s nowhere to turn off and nothing to do but keep going on. And when I roll down the window I feel that cold wind come rushing in. She opens her eyes and looks right through me. And I realize to her I’m already gone. I’m just blowing along back there in the distance, coming to rest with all the other discarded hats of fools and lovers dumb enough to take this ride where you get abandoned along the side side of the highway of lost hats.
8.
9.
My life a stolen picture, like some movie on a TV I’m a fifty gallon drum of ass whooping fiction! I’m a monster truck attraction, a roadside religion! My life’s a schizophrenic version of a psychedelic vision, hey-hey! Living in the Lost Hills on a sustenance of cheap thrills he was killed in a dispute over pumpkins. In a sordid revelation, the neighbor told the nation… My life a stolen picture, a movie on a TV I’m a fifty gallon drum of ass whooping fiction! I’m a monster truck attraction, a roadside religion! My life’s a schizophrenic version of a psychedelic vision, hey-hey! The woods and then the fire, her vision of desire was a tin shack with a head high stack of burning tires. They got the plastic guitars, the misdirected stars the dopey bimbo barflies with the mopey muscle car guys. Between the snow jobs and the blow jobs got no natural defenses. We got the shit we got the fan, hey turn that knob the fun commences! Yeah my life’s a stolen picture look at me I’m on your TV! I’m a phony in transmission, let me be your funky DJ hey-hey! Well I don’t know. I was just standing there when it came walking out of the woods— You know upright like a man. And it was covered with hair, you like fur, and smelled real bad Like a skunk or something and I don’t know I could be wrong, but I think it was a Sasquatch! I’d swear it was a Sasquatch. I shook hands with that Sasquatch. And that sucker looked me square in the eye and he said, “oooh-ah-ah, ooooh-ah-ah, ooooh-ah-ah oooooh!” Give us spider web addictions, slap the geek with his afflictions. Let us hack the rope of goodness with the axe of contradictions! Between the glitter and the lies, behind the layers of disguise the lame have seeing eyes my friends, the blind sail through the skies. Beneath the Alabama Chrome there lies the heresy of Rome! Son, there ain’t no highway home so cleave the marrow from the bone, then from the darkness deep within smell the sweet perfume of sin, as you set the fuse to burn and watch the learning curve a turn (Bending and a torquing and a twerking and a twisting, I’m sending you my love, my life’s a movie like a western! My life a stolen picture, a movie on a TV I’m a fifty gallon drum of ass whooping fiction! REPEAT hey-hey!
10.
The chair that your father once sat in is gone. Got dragged off to the dump to be grabbed by some homeless men… who tonight will sit in it around their campfire recalling the horrors of their experiences is various US wars. They could be having such a fine (old) time it ain’t cool spreading rumors… but sometimes they get a little concerned how no one is ever at home any more… in America…in America in the divided states of America. Now the streets are all empty except for the sound of some fool preacher on a PA about a mile away. And though his sermon is surely as loud as its lonely, don’t bother listening ‘cause nothing is ever said. Why do they listen when nothing is ever said? He could be having such a fine old time. it ain’t cool spreading rumors but still he gets a little concerned how no one is ever at home any more… in America…in America in the divided states of America. Hear them AKs a’popping See our school kids a’dropping? Our core of decency gone See how the neighbors now look kinda wrong? See how up becomes down, And the whole world gets so turned around? And did you notice That wherever you go up there on the TV That goddamn Fox news is ALWAYS on. We could be having such a fine old time it ain’t cool spreading rumors but sometimes we get concerned how no one is ever at home any more how no one is ever at home any more in the divided states of America in the divided states of America in the divided states of America.

about

**LPs and CDs ship form USA. European fans please order directly from LOOSE MUSIC (www.loosemusic.com/)**

The ever-elusive Americana maverick Jim White returns with his most upbeat, hallucinogenic record to date.

Known for his catalog of dark ruminations on all things Southern, White’s latest outing, Misfit’s Jubilee, features a nonstop parade of manic, blue-collar conflagrations exploring realms dark and light, mystic and mundane, cynical and heartfelt; all presented within a buoyant, hook-laden sonic framework.

Plunging headlong into Misfit’s Jubilee one central truth emerges—the further White dives into the material, the deeper said material gets, culminating with the closing couplet of epic show stoppers. First comes the sprawling kitsch of My Life’s a Stolen Picture (replete with stadium anthem chants and shout-outs to Bigfoot), but the ribald mood is quickly displaced by the most overtly political song on the record, The Divided States of America. A scathing indictment of the sorry state of affairs in his homeland, White’s deadpan delivery brilliantly underscores the banal evil at play presently in the US.

“Yeah, it’s time to call bullshit on all that nonsense.” White says from his home in rural Georgia, “Us freaks, we gotta take up musical arms and start speaking truth to power here. If we don’t, who exactly will?”

Recorded primarily at Studio Caporal in Antwerp, Belgium, this record marks a departure from White’s usual hopscotch approach to collaboration—no bevy of celebrated guest artists and studios scattered across the globe this go-round. No, it’s just multi-instrumentalist White, his longtime drummer Marlon Patton, plus trusted Belgian sidemen Geert Hellings (guitar/banjo) and Nicolas Rombouts (electric & stand-up bass/keys), and the pared-down chemistry on display here lends Misfit’s Jubilee a sonic integrity that far exceeds any of White’s previous efforts.

Misfit’s Jubilee draws from an array of original songs penned by White over the span of several decades—scattered among the recent compositions are songs back-burnered in previous epochs by White’s major label handlers, this after said songs were deemed too extreme for his “brand”. With no such middle-man constraints this go-round, in Misfit’s Jubilee White has found the perfect vehicle to unleash his twisted take on southern folk rock. As White’s protagonist in the song Wonders Never Cease defiantly declares, “A motel’s as good a place as any to let your demons fly!”

Amen, Brother White. The Americana maverick has let his sonic demons fly herein, setting the skies fully ablaze, like some LSD fueled 4th of July fireworks spectacular. Get ready to be dazzled.

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released October 30, 2020

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