Bacchanal 'N' Philadelphia

by Mischief Brew

supported by
franklylost thumbnail
franklylost - It is damn near impossible for me to pick a favorite track on such a mainstay album, and there isn’t a single note on this record that I’d change. It’s easily one of the biggest influences on me as a songwriter, and as an artist. I owned both EPs that lead to this release and knew I needed it anyway if for no other reason than I wanted to write this paragraph about how much I love it. Buried In Analog, Resting In Power, Up The Pugs. <3 Favorite track: Roll Me Through The Gates Of Hell.
Gwynplaine de Pétroleuse
Gwynplaine de Pétroleuse  thumbnail
Gwynplaine de Pétroleuse A wonderful (and highly flammable) concoction of anarchist folk punk at it's finest. Favorite track: Liberty Unmasked.
scarpija thumbnail
scarpija Going to mischief brew shows was always one of the best times I’ve ever had. Don’t drink much anymore but have to toss a few back spinning this one. Screamed these tunes at the top of my lungs countless times. Favorite track: Devil Of A Time.
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $10 USD  or more


Well, big bad man come into town Gave sweets to the children Pushed their daddies around Made the streets so bright in the zones of blight No more fear in the hearts of whites He built a hall, put on a show From high above, watched his boulders roll Then he bought Main Street and the old Town Hall He named his price, his face on every wall Now the factories have all shut down No more cloth stitched in this town So the only job for boy and I In the prison making tiles shine Someday that man will come here too With that magic hat, spit and glue He’ll wash the stone, paint the brick Rename the streets And make the clocks all tick on time He’ll make us run on time And every town will celebrate someday Waving sweatshop flags and grande lattes Wearing culture on their backs Wearing spirit on their hats One by one they’ll join the parade and celebrate Yeah, every town will celebrate someday Now corners near and corners far Are somehow the same coffee bar And community is felt again Thanks to folks I’ve never met They slayed the artists, sold their arts Gave the toddlers shopping carts Raised the prices, raised the rent Some days I wish that I could go back again No, I can’t go back again Just like they do in Florida Down in Celebration, Florida And when every road is Main Street, U.S.A We’ll be safely kept at bay from any disruption or display Of truth, adventure, love and rage
When father bought the farm, we sold the farm Mistook his blood for rustic charm Sold his ghost as an antique, to the city And kids today can’t hold a spade Rest in peace, ye olde weary trades In this world, there is no place, such a pity Well, the barman shakes his head and fills my glass Says we’re living in the past “Why preserve a dying craft? End its misery.” We sigh and say, “Another modern man One of property not land.” So I’ll hold out this battered hand Will you listen? Come sit down, we’re lamenting About yesterday’s sad ending About the water in me’ whiskey The brass passed off as gold Another round, we’re descending Into olde time mem’ry Of a day when wood was wooden Silver silver, gold was gold Sweet home was home So you say you got a wood stove in your second home Runs on gas but looks like oak Hell, it even gives off smoke and glowing embers There’s a quilt hung on the wall, reads “Home Sweet Home.” Below, some wise words from Thoreau And they call me a throwback when I cry, “Remember?” Son, these tools are artifacts Endangered species left its tracks So lock me up behind plastic glass in the city There’s no going back for me This antique’s rustic eulogy Shall be sold as folk artistry, such a pity But I’ll never understand Why they all long to use those hands To build a stead that will always stand in “olde tyme” country But settle for white rooms and hollow doors Paper ceilings, padded floors Luxury boxes where you’re stored in what was country
Boycott Me! 02:43
Listen to the fife and snare marching through the square Stencil flags of insurrection dancing through the air Read the rants of a Thomas Paine of modern day I have felt a spirit that has not yet gone away Hey! Boycott me and boycott this And mute your childrens’ mouths When they sing along to this very song Spread word all around Hey, F.O.P., boycott me, for I am standing up! I’d rather taste a rebel’s glory Than drink blood from your cup Read the rants of those in jail and those who rode the rails Then lay down on the roads we paved Eat the crumbs we used for trails And discredit all the rogues Liberty’s crack within the bells The demons in your heavens and the angels in your hells The scorned few of today are the heroes of tomorrow They’ll be a holiday, times of regret and sorrow And when they’re pressed on stamps We’ll hope they’re not forgotten So let’s go down in history blacklisted and boycotten
In a small town where all knew all, wandered a peasant lady nobody knew. But her only friend was a young boy, brought her hot tea and leftover stew. In those burning wintry Decembers, he’d pick dirty pennies up off the cold street. And while his mother was out Christmas shopping, he’d say, “Come on in, warm your feet. As long as you share with me stories.” So she spoke, “I’m a product of war. My mother never knew who she could be as my father lay drunk on the floor.” And she spoke of the cart that she wheeled. Had keys with no locks and guitars with no strings, and a puzzle that could never be finished. “This is my home, these broken things.” Ah, but the boy went on to be taught in the schools to not talk to strangers and “don’t feed the fools.” Grew older and further and of her, forgot, as she was forced to move from lot to lot to lot. She said, “I guess it was much in his nature to become an enforcer of law. My old friend’s got a gun to protect me from the rock-tossing drunks from the bars. Always seemed like the sort to help others, so I’ll find him while he’s on the beat and say, ‘Remember me, I’m the old lady. You’d give me pennies you’d find on the street.’” But when she found him, she saw not the young boy who dug for the roots of her junk. She came face to face with a stern vacant soldier, grinning and spinning a club. He said, “Don’t you know that you can’t be here? You’ll hurt business and scare away the kids. Go wander around in some other town. Get out, or I’m takin’ you in!” “But officer, I fondly remember you. Young boy who would give me the leftover stew. Would take me inside to the warm fire coals. And those hundreds of pennies bought me all these clothes. It’s against the law to peddle, it’s against the law to eat. It’s against the law to have nothing more than the shoes, full of holes, on your feet. And now they put bars across the park benches, so I guess it’s illegal to sleep. They buried something inside of you, officer, into your cold heart dig deep. And you’ll see that it’s me. And here I’ll be, nothing new to me. I’ll be heartbroken and cold, frozen and alone. My coffin was a dumpster and they didn’t even know.” But while out on the beat, he looked down to his feet, and he saw a dirty penny heads up on the street. And it made him think of an old tall tale of a woman who pushed ‘round a cart, and the boy who fed her and helped her. Knew he should have deep in his heart. Oh, where did he hear that old tall tale? But hey, what a story to spread. So he told it to his own growing boy once in a while before bed.
Come see pioneers starving on trout. Meet the drunkards of spirit, of soil, of stout. But old silent fires shall someday bathe all. A cider ferments in us all. Final call! Hear the prophets whose days have gone dim. And for all royal silver, she still won’t wed him. Hear the bastards, yes among us they go, all flaunting freedoms so scarcely known. How I see, merrily, the unmasking of liberty, as she bows to misery. Oh, her open hands, the joy and dance. And this pattern across a great quilt for ages to span. You’re a traveller packing for years, armor of rage in a shower of tears. And you never could see that you were wild and loose, ‘til a baby blue soldier forbid you to choose. Now you cry, “Off with these systems and off with these laws! Bring on the seasons, tradition, and song. The patterns and cycles. We, hitchers of stars, shall reel in adventure to shatter these bores, to march from these wars.
Fare well, good fellows, your ways are not for me. Rest upon your laurels, glad you found your peace, but farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me. Rapping at the chapel door, sweeping up an enemy’s floor. Do not touch or make a sound, keep your eyes upon the ground. I’ve read your countless volumes, shunned your many sins. But I cannot find salvation in the rattlin’ of your tins. I wish good to your children and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you, so… A flag is waved, a bomb is thrown. So many names and dates to know. Books upon the books are stacked to get something so simple back. We’re talkin’ revolution, but spirals, not the spins where you fall down dizzy and forget where to begin. I wish good to your children and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you. Turn your blessings into weapons and hold them before your chest. To you and all your comrades, I only wish the best. We may not meet again, for we are treading separate trails. But I’ll cast off and think of you on seas or roads or rails. From chapels to the armies, magician to the knave, you either blaze your own trail or you’re digging your own grave. I wish good to your children, and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you. Fare well, good fellows…
Didn’t we have a devil of a time? Stranger stumble into town, talkin’ turnin’ tables ‘round Didn’t we have a devil of a time? We shot and slammed the glasses upside down I was the last one to take a mask But the first one to strike a match Shot and slammed the glasses upside down Didn’t I paint a face on the sleeping guard? Convention sleeps when the sun goes down So copper, try and catch me now Didn’t I paint a face on the sleeping guard? Well, the silent sirens wait in the alleyways ‘Til the stone of order’s cracked in two Wake and spin the red and blue Silent sirens wait in the alleyways For the moon is under water of the carnival canals Gotta rattle fragile borders For what’s a city with no underground? To wander through a Venetian maze When I never marched the streets of New Orleans But the devil’s brew I drank tonight Tomorrow have me exorcised And tighten up my necktie once again Crown me the Merry Lord of Misrule With my cracked mask, lei, hangover, and a ragged suit Well at curbside, I crept from sleep Some stranger left behind his reeds Crown me the Merry Lord of Misrule Didn’t we have a devil of a time? They say, “Who’s this drunkard stumbling down In rags, with palm ash on his brow Singin’, ‘Didn’t we have a devil of a time?’”
She’s off to anywhere Every town grows stale soon enough So it’s fields to the east and the hills to the west Under crescent moons, in grassy beds She lays her head to rest She’s been in a hundred movies and in six billion dreams Taking out her wood and wire, singing romance ‘round the fire Giving tastes of truth to those of us employed as liars. And we sing, “ain’t that the life? She’s got it made Her head in the sand, her guitar in the shade Rambling beauty, she sang to me Was she in my mind, or on the TV? Yeah she’s on my mind, come from the TV Noble Hobo, corporate cut-throat got the wisdom of the tramp. Brother, can’t spare no crumbs Don’t you trip over the bums As you step out of the cab on the way to see a Gypsy band Railroad boxcar blasts and burns on down the line And her feet are a’swingin’, and the songs she’s a’singin’ Tell of greener fields and freer times. Rambling beauty, let me be your mate for a while Be a shoulder for your head, carry a bag and roll a bed Another day in this place, and I swear I’ll end up dead And how I’m sorry that my ancestors threw you in jail But now I can see your ramblings were poetry Will you sell me the rights if I put up the bail?
All that’s between us and the sky Fogged glass and dusty blinds So I scrawled your name then mine Just to see them side by side Your boss is pullin’ out his hair If he only knew why you’re not there Bells and hammers break the waking day As sobriety carries its chains And you look into my eyes And say you’re through with that disguise As it’s strewn beside your bed You vow to never pull it on again I thought I’d be a hermit forever Can it still be so as long as we are together? You’re like fire to pine All the worlds behind those eyes As clocks quake and crumble into piles Think we’re the only ones left alive All rules seem strange and false Each hour gone, out there seems more wrong I’m afraid we’ve been inside for days And I fear sobriety awaits As I look into your eyes, I wonder when we last dined All engagements we never made Just threw them away with one embrace All these rules that somehow passed Are but cracks in the window glass A kiss set off the drunk of three nights So savor these firework shards while they fly I thought I’d be a hermit forever, can it still be so? For now, we are together.
I am a leader but you will not follow me I ain't no preacher, for I'm full of blasphemy See you in hell, boys Like an angel who'd been dancing with some devils I'm a bad girl with hope for a better day My laughter is spiced with mischief I won't toss the salt, kiss it up, or pray When you offer pink or blue, I'll take the blackest When you offer only two, I'll offer three When you point me in a direction, I'll run backwards And at the border of utopia, I'll toast to anarchy Cause fire and rock, I'm coming home to you As I'm pickin' the bones out of my dinner stew Open up the gates of hell and roll me through Fire and rock, I'm coming home to you So you're sayin' Satan's army's rising up soon Well if it is, I'm the Secretary of No-State No state! Got wrenches, rocks, and bottles in my tool pouch My desire is society's jailbait Cause there's tons of guys a'mopin' 'bout the workday Dimes by the dozens Their song weighs a thousand pounds But there's nothing like a lady with a buzzsaw I just might build your house But I just might tear it down Yes barkeep, I will surely have another To the witches! To the goblins and the trolls! I'll be coming to recruit your rebel children There ain't no use in lockin' doors There's one of me in every home With mud on my boots And blood on my jeans I'll take those pretty dresses Tear 'em at the seams Roll me through the gates of hell, ah please And I'll be back in your daughter's dreams
Anti-Lullaby 04:43
We are bouncing and dancing as you sing your lullaby Shouting “move” when you say “stay.” The tune of your flute is a rifle you shoot That lays us all down to be prey They love you, we hate you We made you to break you today Breaking away We are painting the walls, making jokes out of laws Hiding sleeping pills under our tongues Shut the light, close the door, we spit them to the floor Then we’re hummin’ and a’strummin’ and a’bangin’ on drums What did you know when you said we are wasting away? How could you say? How could you say we just waste away, waste away? Big table not big enough How could you say we just waste away, waste away? Hummin’ and a’strummin’ and a’bangin’ on drums We will not be lulled into slumber by you We will not be lulled into sleep For we’ve had a taste of this wondrous place And its treasures, we intend to keep So now when they say we just waste away, waste away You can say hey, it’s not so Why is it then that we’re growing And growing and growing and growing And showing them all what we know?


The earliest studio recordings, long out of print, get a new coat of paint! This is the "Philadelphia" side of the split LP with Robert Blake (tracks 1-6) and the "Bakenal" EP (tracks 5-11) combined once and for all. The songs have been remastered from the original 2002 analog tapes and sound better than ever. A classic batch of songs from the folk punk dumpstered-salad days, brought to you by Fistolo Records (CD/digital) and Square Of Opposition Records (vinyl).


released February 2, 2016


all rights reserved



Mischief Brew Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Emerging from the undead ashes of PA punk troupe The Orphans, Mischief Brew started with a scratchy demo tape in 2000 and has since spread the good word of anarchy, hilarity, and rebellion across state lines and even the Atlantic Ocean a few times. We've managed to exist for over 13 years in one form or another by kissing nobody's ass and doing everything ourselves, for the most part. No rules! ... more

contact / help

Contact Mischief Brew

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Report this album or account

If you like Mischief Brew, you may also like: