'Democrats and Republicans' is an ethereal blend of dreamy guitar, soaring vocals, and epic strings accompanied by vulnerable lyrics describing the mental effect that a tense political climate has on the people of a nation. More specifically, how corrupt politicians enable division within society for their own twisted agendas. 

We saw it with a prior US election and how almost everyone had to have a strict belief in either one side or the other with no room for open-mindedness or hearing different perspectives. 

Many people were taking to heart what they heard from a neighbor, social media, or a biased news source and using it to go head-to-head with people from different parties. It was tense and often got violent. 

Instead of bringing people together as music does, it divides them. But at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter what people believe, it’s really all about the personal connection you have with them. 

On a side note, please send the song to a friend or 2 once you hear it because ever since the main rock promo channels went inactive, we haven’t had much help in promoting our stuff. 

It's already extremely difficult for an independent/unsigned band to be heard and our past few releases got slept on pretty hard so every stream, buy, and share will directly help keep WATE alive. 

Tell your friends you know us and that we need help spreading the word. We know all our fans by name, and appreciate you all, so let’s do this together. Let’s show the world we can make WATE blow up just by ourselves. #WATEfamily ✊

American Dream

👕MERCH👚

Democrats and Republicans

tamera w. with bilious spirits laid out before me i hope to invoke your ghost. this exercise is already at fault - inspiration so much more easily gleaned in retrograde, spurned by brown liquid that eddies in my esophagus, trying to push its way through the epiglottis, then down to the stomach where a noxious substance is detected as villi retract and curl, and finally metabolized in the liver, but of course not without casualty. i don't know if my grandfather drank whiskey but i know that my father did, and together we imbibe without flinching. but tamera w. have you not yet chosen to appear? 

i think it started with a smell. sweat odor clinging to armpit hairs, an essence of sex, the sweet pissy smell of her untouched cunt. a smell i wouldn’t have been able to describe back then, but still recognizable to receptors of more intuitive sensory systems. it was pheromones, insect attraction. walking home together after school, our trickles of conversation never reached the din of cicadas fucking in the trees, but this only happened a few times i know because i did not understand the ritual of pursuit you wanted me to engage. one misunderstanding and i cowered in my awkwardness. my parents never drove us to that fall homecoming dance, and i trudged through the piles of dead leaves in the gutters of F.O. drive with the corduroy collar of my jacket turned up against the biting wind. 

tamera w., i'm not finished with you yet, stay and linger on a moment for you once laughed at my jokes. i was a skulk for so many years and you never knew but i was waiting for you to excise my swollen appendix and cinch my side with sutures made of your bristly pubic hairs. but the inflammation consumed me, and i resigned myself to staring out cold windows at night writing stilted poetry on yellow post-it notes, a thin atonement for my misery. this misery...goddamnit i can't even remember your last name… but, the fact is that my state of unrequitement had been so tangible for so long that it (dis)affected me, it disaffected me...

so tamera w., you were sweet but maybe a little on the cheap side; even at that age you wore too much mascara, but we were young and ripe, budding sex gardens in our right. i've heard there's nothing quite like 15 year old skin and now we'll never know. i can imagine you anchored by children, your cervix distended, still smoking cigarettes - you've contained yourself in a fishtank of sub-mediocrity. But maybe you didn't - your family vacated your laurel glens home soon after i had to force myself to pretend you didn't exist. so in this respect you will always be this beautiful cryogenic hologram of possibility - something to be shelved, re-examined, and lamented every decade or so just like the first three Red House Painters albums.

Dear Mark Kozelek...

Alesund

Neuer Versuch, neuer Track :)
hoffe er gefällt jemandem da draußen genaus so wie mir


Not My Guitar

fuck mark kozelek (sneedmix)

THE ENDLESS CHAPTER UNFOLDS. http://wearetheempty.com

New tracks tagged #Sunkilmoon