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Golden Aging

by Conor Garrison

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1.
Bluff 03:43
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I tremble All over Play it off like a sign of the times My Decision Is final No need for you to remind My Word we Got to Have to stay in the lines My Friend you Can’t keep Hiding and loving the quiet My God, I don’t wanna mess it up But I gotta call your bluff Gonna go all in Hit me Gonna go all in Hit me Gonna go all in Excuses Bar none Should be a point of concern My Opinions “Just mine” Yeah right, I’m gonna burn My Boyhood Habits Ones that I need to unlearn My Instincts Need work Always Meeting adjourned My God, I don’t wanna mess it up But I gotta call your bluff Gonna go all in Hit me Gonna go all in Hit me Gonna go all in
2.
Ten & Two 03:46
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Sped along at ten and two Circled ‘round the awful truth I could use a change Long as the good parts stay I’ll be fine Such a pain to stay awake Climb into bed and hibernate, well Goodnight moon There’s a fire in the other room Raising hell And I lost my voice, the one in my head Now all I wanna do Wake up early, paint the town red Instead of feeling blue Ooh I got nothing to lose Never meant to make a fuss I’d rather build than reconstruct A time and a place Civil war of mental states Place your bets The way our hands interlaced Superpowers activate I know it’s true I can take the world on with you What do you say? And I lost my voice, the one in my head Now all I wanna do Wake up early, paint the town red Instead of feeling blue Ooh I got nothing to lose Composed myself and I took a stab, Somehow kept my cool No more baggage, no more to unpack Everything to prove Ohhh I got nothing to lose
3.
Stroke of Luck 02:57
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I’m at my wit’s end You threw me for a loop Didn’t see you coming Sun was in my eyes Time is of the essence Counterclockwise When your mind’s made up Make out like a bandit No way we coulda planned it Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke or luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Voices like to travel Down a digital cave What’s got ya tied up? What could it possibly be? Stuck on a playground Playing make believe When your mind’s made up Make out like a bandit No way we coulda planned it Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke or luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck Some kinda stroke of luck
4.
Damn Fools 03:10
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Got me riled up Got me out of breath Won’t leave my mind Won’t put it to rest, It’s a side effect of living in the present They can use time as a weapon Know where you’ve been, n where you were headed We’re damn fools Acting foolish get fooled into doing whatever they want us to do Hey! Shoulda read the fine print ‘fore I went and jumped in but so did you So did you We’ve been here before We’ll be here again Let’s not make believe Let’s not play pretend, You’ll be busy angry, checking the facts No shit Sherlock, do the math Make sure to carry the one We’re damn fools Acting foolish get fooled into doing whatever they want us to do Hey! Shoulda read the fine print fore I went and jumped in but so did you Falsify and fossilize What you believe to be true Call yourself a guru Oh I prefer to be televised To whet my appetite Ohh And be sure to tune in To all our confusion
5.
Hold Your Own 03:17
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Check, please The vultures are out tonight They don’t mind Running every red light Never took the note, To dial it back Though they heard you loud and clear Still they persist, And try to impress ya, Hey dude could you hold my beer? Hold your own / Hold your own You were king in junior high Hold your own / Hold your own She just clicked unsubscribe Hold your own / Hold your own You’re toxic beyond belief, Hold your own / Hold your own Your brand is killing me Mayday, You’re spiraling out of control It’s hard to watch you, Dig yourself into this hole A regular playboy, With tricks up his sleeve, Never known self-doubt You bought all the books, Can’t buy charisma, How’s that working out? Hold your own / Hold your own You’re not fooling anyone Hold your own / Hold your own Why bother put up a front? Hold your own / Hold your own Just like your old man Hold your own / Hold your own Gotta love the promised land
6.
Juneau 02:46
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Waste away With eyes glazed over That stuff will kill ya Mind you Comes with age Just a phase inside your mind As you watch from the sidelines Can’t go it alone Can’t go it alone Can’t go it alone Whoa Phone the folks, They’re diagnosing, Say you’re running, On fumes Compliments, Ever since you made them smile The number they always dial but Can’t go it alone Can’t go it alone Can’t go it alone Whoa Leave em stunned and spare no effort, Underdog is under pressure
7.
Spade 03:18
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Here to interrupt Here to erupt Don’t shake it off Shake it up up In the air Up in the air If you wanna go The doors right there It’s a golden age we’re living in Google yourself, Google for help, Buy buy buy Sell sell sell Sellers remorse Taken by force Oh well what can ya do? Let the chips fall where they may A spade’s not just a spade Yesteryear feels just like it was yesterday And they cater to you and your needs The ones they defined and made We play the game in their arcade Enjoy your stay No peace of mind, Piece of my mind Want a piece of me? Live my life Life’s all nice Life’s all nice Follow my lead Get in line Become a person of influence Twiddle my thumbs Twiddle for crumbs Know who I am? Know where I’m from? Here’s a brochure “Most def, sure sure sure” You got yourself a deal Let the chips fall where they may A spade’s not just a spade Yesteryear feels just like it was yesterday And they cater to you and your needs The ones they defined and made We play the game in their arcade Enjoy your stay We’re open late Til the moonlight swallows you whole That’s all folks

about

In 2018, having been a member in various other bands (Local Phonies, Blank Brothers, October Surprise, Moakler & Burke, Hortonia), Conor finally decided to write and produce his first solo album. Over the past two years, Conor began stockpiling a collection of his riffs, half-songs, and chords without a home that eventually became the songs on Golden Aging. Lyrically, Conor drew inspiration from his own life and the many Hollywood hopefuls he crossed paths with along with their stories--the talented-but-unlucky, the lucky-but-untalented, and everyone in between. He channeled ideas about growing up, the internet, family, toxic masculinity, self-help subculture, the effects of social media, and, you guessed it, love.

"I can’t tell you what made Local Phonies’ co-creator Conor Garrison sit bolt upright in bed one night, determined to move out west. But he did. He left his homeworld of Massachusetts for the desert. And hey, I can’t tell you how it felt to move to a new place and start growing your own roots. BUT, I can tell you Conor Garrison’s album GOLDEN AGING is bursting at the seams with spontaneous energy and wit. One can be fooled by the piece’s svelte, 23 minute runtime, but to do so would be a mistake. Conor deftly crafts soaring melodies that weave through his live-wire instrumentals. His multi-instrumental talent shines through his perpetual refusal to do a straightforward drum beat and his chord progressions that sound at once familiar and foreign to the ear. These are the sounds of an experienced musician who just recently discovered what he had. For the rest of us that know him, we quote the knockout line from the standout track DAMN FOOLS, “No shit, Sherlock." - Jon Fricchione of Local Phonies

credits

released September 11, 2018

Conor Garrison - guitar, drums, bass, keys/synth, egg shaker, tambourine #1, tambourine #2, makeshift pill container shaker, production, vox
Jon Fricchione - mixing, support + guidance

Recorded at Conor's Studio in East Hollywood, CA. Drums recorded at Bedrock.LA.

Album cover photo taken by Brittani Kagan

Thanks a whole lot to:
-friends + family for the support
-BHK for establishing and managing my fan club along with her love and endless support
-Loopy HD, GarageBand, iRig, and the cheapest condenser mic on Amazon I could find
-LA traffic for providing around ~2 hours a day for me to sing and write during my daily commute

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Conor Garrison Somerville, Massachusetts

A real cut up

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