Presents

by Sakes Alive!!

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about

Sakes Alive!!'s first recording. Before there was a band, three tracks were recorded and presented to whomever would chance listening. "Our Mistress the Sea" contends with man's self-destruction, and its imposition on everything around him. "Your Money's No Good Here" of punk rock run afoul. "Riders United" pleas and seethes for self-reclamation.

credits

released November 16, 2007

Recorded by Kate Alberts.
At More Sounds in Syracuse, NY.
Self-released, limited 500 copy CD-R.
Artwork by Stan Doll.

Chris Vandeviver - Vocals, guitars, song-writing.
Kevin Mahoney - Bass, production.
Jeff Haschmann - Drums.

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Sakes Alive!! Rochester

Sakes Alive!! is a punk rock band from Rochester, NY.

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Track Name: Our Mistress the Sea
Bottoms up!!
We’re on a sinking ship
That’s rotted through;
Weighed down by the six billion people
Who make up this crew
All affected with the tyranny
Of sunken treasure and salary
But the fool’s gold’s false
And now we’re stuck
We’re dropping off…

When caught on the airs of a siren’s song
You’re bound to hit either storm or rocks
And they’re calling us
For all of us
We’re at the edge on plastic waves
That tend to reflect our decay
Not a single lighthouse shines
We’re all alone

Chorus

There’s an ever increasing risk
That you might have to give a shit
That this world’s an ugly mess with our excess
I’m not sure if it will be okay
Will it be okay?

From the oil fountains to clear-cut trees;
Vacuumed oceans and jungles paved –
I don’t want any part of these things
But I’ve come to realize most everything
And that no matter what the intent to the sea
We all taste the same

Chorus

There’s an ever increasing risk
That you might have to give a shit
That this world’s an ugly mess with our excess
I’m not sure if it will be okay
Will it be okay?

Bottoms up
We’re dropping off
Track Name: Your Money's No Good Here
Your Money’s No Good Here

This is a masquerade
Of scoundrels, tramps, and thieves
Who live only for the taking –
Dressed up with masks on raring to go
No longer art but a fashion show
Leaving idealists to grasp at pennies for any thought
Bypass a cause and dance all night long
At the electric beauty salon

Inside they traipse around
Comparing product counts
And perfecting the imagery for mass marketing
Under the guise of integrity

Chorus

So let’s raise some hell
From the basement floor
Beneath the horde
Winning redemption
Through these chords
We may not be pretty
And may have skinned knees
But it’s us who bleed through song
That are redeemed

This is a masquerade
Of scoundrels, tramps, and thieves
Who live only for the taking –
And they’ve built the hall right on the backs
Of those that laid down the tracks
They drink and they feed,
They twirl and writhe to the beat of hopeful hearts
Who ache to find something to trust

Chorus

We’re raising hell
From the basement floor
Beneath the horde
Winning redemption
Through these chords
We may not be pretty
And may have skinned knees
But it’s us who bleed through song
That are redeemed

We’ll raise some hell
Tear down the walls
Shake the foundation
Till it falls
Track Name: Riders United
Riders United

Tonight let’s scream,
For what should be some shared feelings:
That love’s not lost; adventures remain;
And we live for our own sakes
These wages, jobs, and loans are just not justified anymore
So given the facts let’s make a pact
And finally reclaim all our faith

Chorus

Let’s be reckless riders of the roads already chose;
Nomads who drift from place to place
To follow their hopes
I want to thumb my nose, cut all my ties,
So I can celebrate my fucking life

We’ve been hanging out in the basements, bars, and coffee shops
With all our hopes hanging from our throats
Damn near choking from where we want to go
Can you taste the dusty trails or hidden streets?
That itch under your skin, deep in your veins

Chorus

Let’s be reckless riders of the roads already chose;
Nomads who drift from place to place
To follow their hopes
I want to thumb my nose, cut all my ties,
So I can celebrate my fucking life


Chorus

We are reckless riders of the roads already chose;
Nomads who drift from place to place
To follow their hopes
I’ll thumb my nose, cut all my ties,
So I can celebrate my fucking life