Famine For A Slow Death

by Mere Phantoms

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    Download includes the seven tracks on Famine for a Slow Death as well as a handmade zine featuring lyrics and essays on each song's subject matter by the collective.

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Seven tracks of grinding metallic punk analyzing want, desperation, and blight in the face of hoarded and exploited abundance. “Music for the pillars and workers of the gears.”
Mere Phantoms play hardcore with politically and socially conscious lyrics, and on "Famine For a Slow Death" are conceptually in line with the best elements of 90's hardcore, but through a sonic filter more akin to Orchid, Catharsis, or Thou. Featuring Aaron Vilk (Nyodene D) and other secret commies from the Rustbelt.

Single sided LP + poster + zine featuring essays and lyrics. A limited cassette edition of the album will be available on Down For Anything Records at the same time.


released August 14, 2015



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Mere Phantoms Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

3-Piece grime from Western Pennsylvania.


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Track Name: Capricorn
The sustenance of old becomes the stench of failure. The crops rot in fallow fields before the factory. They blacken the blood and decay. Capricorn, you are born to feed. Capricorn, engineered for the masses.The pride of the worker, crushed under the wheels. The ritual of the hunter, now a smashed temple. The ever devouring doctrine, blesses the worm. Born of corporate ingenuity into the flow of currency. Worker, I have seen your wrinkled hands tied behind your back in copper and gold. Capricorn, I have seen the bloodstone laid before the womb of process, the Blight in the cornucopia, the gangrene on our hands. When our intake falls like a noose on our necks and the worker is gagged by the bill; when the earth is scorched for golden calves and the capital turns another head - this system will not last.
Track Name: The Spark (Ions In The Aether)
A fractured reality stretching out our hands, fingers reaching outward to each other to feel that spark of humanity. But the spark evaporates into the aether. We are forever searching for a spark that promises infinity. Grasping desperately at stinging emptiness.
Track Name: Mere Phantoms
A life in boxes/a life in fear. We are all trespassers here. Disgust for details/irreplicable shapes. A life under cracked ceilings, in front of blue screens, with hands on digits and triggers. Never to know the smell of rain and earth. Never to taste the bark/world disconnect. Take it all away. Parasitic existence.
Track Name: Droning Unmanned Engine (Hive Death)
Wave after wave. Iron rain cascading. Remote dispatch. Hail of Imperialist greed. Punishing the earth and the broken bodies. Daisy-chained in mourning on cold static screen. Come, droning unmanned engine. Soaring over the steel gates surrounding ivory towers of apathy. Iron reign of the hive. Parasitic swarm. Droning incessantly until colonies collapse.
Track Name: Famine Liturgy
A pressed hand against a rough surface erases the ruins like chalk, so lightly brushed to cold winds. Our liturgy, lest we forget their names. Your revenue, your repentance. Our voice crushed under miles of paper and ink. A suffocating smog born of ceaseless error. Ills of a society bent on capital, breeding thrones for fools. Thousands crushed under the march of the avatar. A head, disembodied, born of murk and fortune, ruling the starved, driving the weary. Carnival lights to blind and erase; a famine for a slow death.
Track Name: Fruition of Imperial Lust
Decadent silence every morning when we arise. Their marrow is dissolved in lead and phosphorus. Ring of flowers on a caged dog’s head. Walking along dunes, rebar, fields. Shrouded womb of security. Bloodied hand of a worker. Allegiance to a silent harbinger. Stringing skins along a constellation of wells. Our heads grow quieter everyday as the clandestine wars rage on.
Track Name: Millenial Patriarch
These eternal divisions, incandescent parallel lines. Running from our fathers of always, that trample the mothers of now. Patriarch, you sit before me; father, you show me our tradition. A lineage of violence/a lineage of commodification. These binaries reinforce the construct of separation. These binaries prescribe what is of man. Placate the legends of always. This construct is illusory. Your definition is self-made. Your dominance is nothing to me. Your dichotomy places the golden crown on your temples. The subtlety in our discourse poisons us still. If this is what it means to be a man, I reject this.