While still young, Binger find themselves at the age of Skepticism - wondering if the dreams of their childhood and the realities of their current lives still have anything in common. Each track explores an area of skepticism that has effected the band; the kind of things anyone would be skeptical of - love, divorce, childhood dreams, death, dreaming, vice, addiction - all of the problems of the Quarter-Life Crisis so many young adults around the world find themselves in, and older adults "fondly" remember. 

"Skeptics" reminds us that things are not always as they seem, but also that this is nothing to be afraid of. Who are the the skeptics - Binger? You? Me? Everyone!? The answer to that doesn't matter. If you follow Binger down the rabbit hole you pop out on the other side, a little older and a little more suspicious - but ready for what might come as you join the skeptics around you in our wandering through a constantly fluctuating musical world.

Released April 29, 2016 

All music by Binger 
Lyrics by Shakir Stephen, Braden Winslow, and Stephanie Heaghney

Binger is: 
Braden Winslow - Guitars, Vocals, Synthesizer (1), Vocoder (5) 
Dalton Muzzy - Drums and Percussion 
Shakir Stephen - Bass, Vocals, Keyboards (4), Vocoder (6) 

Special Guests: 
Stephanie Heaghney - Vocals (2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8) 
Gyasi Garcia - Keyboards (all tracks except 4), Synthesizer (2, 5) 
Christopher Hawthorn - Trumpet (2,9) 

Produced by Binger, Ryan Power and Eric Maier 
Recorded by Ryan Power at Stu Stu Studios, Essex, VT 
Mixed & Mastered by Eric Maier at Future Fields Studio, Burlington, VT

King Vice

Look at the Lilacs

If I Knew

Resurrection in Sanskrit 1

Been Longing Too Long

Strings

(Shakir) 
Your chest moves at the same pace as mine 
We're red blood cells mediating time (Where red blood cells mediate in time) 
I said I feel fine, 
But you're never satisfied with that, 
Too justified and occupied to alkaline my acid side 
Too scared to get too close to top speed 
Or put in the effort needed to make sure I succeed 
I'm begging for attention from myself, but still getting rejected 
Connected by the physical I beg all of you, I beg all of you 
Our two-person crew, I'm thinking someone made me for you... 
I'm thinking someone made me for you. 

'Cause I'm tryna reach up 
while I'm tryna reach down 
and I'm just about to break down. 
Check your pockets for your life 

I check my pockets cuz I'm lacking the empathy 
To modify my time to understand your complexity 
It should be enough that you're standing right next to me 
Waving from another shore, laced in reality 
Everything's a story but the stories never line up 
Intersecting symbols of a life that didn't sign up for anything 
Accept true alienation 
In the bone cage, thought's just procrastination 

'Cause I'm tryna reach up 
while I'm tryna reach down 
and I'm just about to break down. 
Check your pockets for your life

Check Your Pockets

(Braden) 
I toed the line 
from angel wings  
or 
devil's dance. They're only  

all products of 
subjective 
circumstance. I often think 

of the difference in you and I 
and how 
I could never claim to  

know, nor could I  
presume to 
understand, what you've been through. 

Our nostalgia is 
someone else's 
summer home 
How could they have ever known? 

So at the end of it all we stand 
at this 
precipice of seismic  

shifts in how we see ourselves. 
Right or wrong, it's 
relativity. I'm just 

doing the best I can 
with 
all I have to give. I  

hope it's enough 
for me. 
I hope that's enough for you. 

Our getaway is 
someone else's 
sweat and bone 
How could I have ever known? 

(Shakir) 
I'm homesick, even though I'm still home 
Gotta step outside of this dome, gotta leave my head 
Even though you're not dead, Imma try to forget everything that you said 
Make a king of the world when you sleep in my bed 
Its a good thing I sound well-read, forget street cred 
I'm lucky to be alive, climbed outta that jungle, barely survived  
Rarely surprised, squarely deprived, fairly surmised by the time I arrived in your life 
You didn't even have a choice, I demanded your mind with my voice 
Move passed the old, get with the new 
Try to escape the world you construe 
With atlas and map, words just collapse 
When you think about them 
Just a little sideways

Sideways

(Shakir) 
I suppose I feel torn 
There seems to be a schism in my community  
Born with a propensity to chase all opportunity  
But pulled in two directions by a basic bent attraction 
Characterized by the other side, as a basic self-distraction 
A reaction to a turbulent relationship  
I'm trying to explain to you, I can't just go abandon ship 
Maybe there's a way to help keep both of you so satisfied 
Everyone seems fine with touting emblematic matricide and patricide 
As if they could deny their inner worth 
It doesn't really matter if you help your own rebirth 
See I would never shed the blood, or take the life on one's eternally perfected state 
Unless of course we stop looking externally  

In the spaces in between I could buckle down and work out what I mean 
Based on everything I've seen, I can stop the machine 
In the spaces in between the world could buckle down and work out what we mean 

Cuz I commit these crimes on the daily, interior 
I trusted myself, but saw my motives were ulterior  
You download me through all of this, upload on the smallest miss 
It's hard to feel the loving when you promise contradicting bliss  
Now they both sustain themselves, but soon they will diminish 
Or one of them will shut me out and let the heartache finish 
Which is fair enough so justified, my lies are perfect, bonafied 
Manipulation, late causation, selfish dehumanization 
It cause a rift inside, a rift that just gets amplified  
By winning here, winning there, acting like I never care 
But soon the roads diverge too much to keep my feet on both of them
Soon my words diverge too much to keep my feet on... 

All the spaces in between, I could buckle down and work out what I mean 
Based on everything I've seen, I can't stop the machine 
And in the spaces in between the world could buckle down and work out what we mean 

(Braden) 
Spaces in between 
What I said and what I mean. 
Pick a path to choose 
Would you know which to take? 
Trying desperately 
To have my cake and eat it too, 
But come up empty handed  
Hungry, yet again. 
Falling to his knees, 
plagued by thoughts of what could be, 
lament the lack of time  
to devote to it all. 
Opportunity 
presents itself infrequently 
but is it worth the risk? 

I gotta admit I feel afraid 
of passion in obscurity. 
Career advice: I'm not enticed 
by normative security, 
yet formative maturity 
at the cusp of two decisions 
yields a breaking point between 
an ensured later and provisional fulfillment. 
Appointing unbiased hierarchies, 
where success is oftentimes defined 
in numbers and degrees, 
but all the money in the world 
would never set your mind at ease 
from the turmoil you feel from  
compromising on your dreams. It's got you  
breeding elements of cynicism on the regular, 
defining all activities by that which they're not. 
Breeding elements of cynicism on the regular, 
convinced yourself throughout the years you couldn't be bought. 

(Shakir) 
In the spaces in between I could buckle down and work out what I mean 
Based on everything I've seen, I can slow the machine 
And in the spaces in between the world could buckle down and work out what we mean

Spaces

(Shakir) 
I guess I'm still guessing, stressing, caressing my ego 
Long enough to drop bombs on my closest amigos  
And all you hard work turns to letters, but letters are mean 
It's fucked up, I'm here bugging at a line on a screen 
But what does that mean? Who gets cut out? What gets negated? 
By the personhood translated that a Mac screen created 
Cuz a phone in your hand; a mind on the outside 
Forced to face itself with a diluted decayed pride and a mitigated brain 
Kinda like a cheap beer 
It doesn't taste as good but it'll get me from here to there 
Circle to square, living to living well 
Blowing lies outta my eyes from the heat of a digital hell 
I wouldn't say I'm trapped, cuz I know that I'm free 
Although the "norm" will crush the spirit if it must disagree 
Somehow I think we're kinda passed a gendered anthropomorphic description of an an energy pervading in the depths on an encryption code 
Yet through technology the humans are gone 
Because the Uncanny Valley, was always a con 
And even though our glasses help us see clear 
You won't be quite as happy when your eyes disappear  

Robots are already here with their lives in their hands 
Data scripts in their portable pineal glands 
Microchips in the miniature promised land 
So won't you tell me who's on? 

Humans die by design 

(Braden) 
I think my brain been frayed 
We all absorbed, reforming normalcy in our ways 
Forged among the firewalls and analog blaze 
Our discourse rearranged, even Liquid fell pray to these changes 
Now they're crawling in my mental 
All these bots in my thoughts, antiquated exponentials 
Can't forget fast enough, I can barely keep up 
With the tech it's a must to progress 
Guess I just gotta 
Try and be elastic, megabits and plastic 
Wrap around my wrist and stay affixed beyond the casket 
That's the tactic is to worm in, subvert my cerebellum 
Til I find myself complicit in the future they're foretelling 
(But what's it looking like?) 
A fabricated way of life 
Digitize the mind's horizon in the modern zeitgeist 
Memory dot E X E 
I burn my brain into CD 
and then upload and re-encode my DNA to data streams now 
Oh jeez! I'm hearing all my thoughts in mp3 
See in 720p 
Run at 3k M H Z 
'Til reality be looking like it does within my screen 
and the ghost in the machine begins to resemble me 

I see the androids are already here 
with their lives in their hands, 
data scripts in the portable pineal gland 
Microchips in the miniature promised land 
So don't you ask me who's on 

Humans die by design

Memory.exe

Based out of Burlington, Vermont, Binger elusively sheds any genre that manages to stick to them (often within the same song). Combining elements of progressive psych rock with the grooves and lyricism of jazz-minded hip-hop to create a style that gracefully skirts the line between delightful and perplexing; inventing a sound that reels you in, and keeps you there, with a cohesive yet eclectic energy. 

Binger channel the manifold musical scene of New England through their ever expanding exploration of all music accessible to the airwaves, having shared stages with Atmosphere, Sophistafunk, Polyrhythmics, Sidewalk Chalk, BIG Something, Lynguistic Civilians, and more.