better luck next year vol 2: good job nice try

by cool american

supported by
Jacob Gehman
Jacob Gehman thumbnail
Jacob Gehman I'm reminded of that scene in Scott Pilgrim vs the World where the announcer is like, "Scott earned the power of _____!" and then a sword materializes out of his chest? I feel like that's what happened to Cool American. This collection of songs that didn't even make their forthcoming album is hot stuff and they totally leveled up from their last full length--which I wasn't even sure was possible. Kudos. Favorite track: finger trap.
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songs from 2016 that won't fit on the album we're recording soon. all proceeds donated to the Southern Poverty Law Center.


released January 16, 2017

written and recorded by nathan except for "white flag" which is a Dido song that we recorded as a full band in the 212 basement. mixed by andy and nathan, mastered by andy.

photo by claire gunville i'm pretty sure!



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cool american Portland, Oregon

dorito pop from portland, oregon

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Track Name: the difference
you say you'll know it when it's true,
it will reveal itself to you.
never thought that i could see,
just tried to make it real to me.
that's the difference between
knowing the median and mean.
that's the difference between
fucking up and coming clean.
Track Name: waking up
today felt like a waste again
i putzed around the house and then
i made myself another cup of coffee, still not waking up
it's hard to take it serious
when you act like you don't hear from us
and another rain check just because of early morning waking up
and we talk on the phone but it's breaking up
your job's pretty good yeah you make enough
but you're thinking it's time to switch things up
so you're raising your glass and you're filling your cup
you don't know the words but you're making them up
you're ahead of the pack but you're still catching up
yeah you don't wanna talk but you'll say what's up
Track Name: before you leave the parking lot
sending off another link in the chain of past due emails
begrudgingly divulge the details of another month
never stop to wonder if what you're doing could be dangerous
whether you should remain strangers, you don't know what you want

it's no fun watching what you say
a simple change of pace, soon becomes a habit
no one should every make you feel that way
so why keep doing it to yourself every single day

ripping off the bandaid wraps your index finger in cotton swabs
before you leave the parking lot. no one will know how you spent your lunch break
there's nothing really to be that ashamed about, you tell yourself. it's just reproductive health. who care's what assumptions they make

it's no fun watching what you say
all the little digs are adding up to static
no one should ever make you feel that way
so why keep doing it to yourself every single day

i guess no one ever notices til you suggest they clean up the mess

stale recycled air, the glare of headlights in your rearview mirror
you're not getting any nearer
you're not going home
Track Name: counting sheep
having trouble coming clean, seeing double suddenly
coming over but i won't sleep, beside you i listen to labored breathing
it's not like i can't hurt you when i'm not at my peak
replaying my mistakes like counting sheep
shouldn't you be getting home, won't you get in trouble hanging around
Track Name: finger trap
you'd notice it when she showed you how much to take
or in the morning, bleary eyed, eating frosted flakes
the trouble with having nothing to prove
is what else could make your molecules move

i've come to see what they all call gracefulness
as the part of me that's wayward and weightless
i see what they mean, that no one gets what they want
a compromised seam, tearing where it's pulled taught
now you're making a scene in the mexican restaurant

you'll clean the house, water the dahlias
or sit around and bask in nostalgia
the slow decay of something so resonant
til saturday's distraction will bring respite

now nothing i say is sounding intelligent
the thought on its way, suddenly irrelevant
a finger trap game, and we keep on pulling it
our parents' display, transparently full of it
so day after day, quietly we just sit