I Pined To Be A Truer Woman (demo)

by Joey Molinaro

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a rough acoustic demo recorded on 4-track in a Western PA cabin. Full-produced recordings and a vinyl record planned for 2016.


released December 19, 2015

mastered by John Paul Zigterman
artwork by Morgan Koch



all rights reserved


Joey Molinaro Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Acoustic experimental black metal/ solo grind violinist Joey Molinaro’s “stomping and ferocious playing is inescapable,” (Foxy Digitalis).
Molinaro “executes the spirit and function of hardcore punk and Appalachian folk” (Foxy Digitalis) with “vocals [that] haunt, like a preternatural voice from beyond the pale” (Razorcake) and torrential boot-stomping.
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Track Name: The Saddest Clown
Wayward but wanton,
wax balloons of premonition,
virulent as a pebble
with his cavities engorged.
Ruby waking onto
cirque du pavement,
heralded ride to pout for.

Floorboard tongue-sprain
squeak-toy chainsaw
pancake tongue-face
hot glue figure

Squeals of delight make the clown glow with pride.
Blighted tomato-whiff eludes his rosy nose.

Judy's smile… "My fiancee!
we're betrothed, like the fairy
tale of my closed eyes."

Soaked in putrid fruit,
spleen shame humors swell
royal vapor drains
twisted faces howl
one fruit strikes him late
from Judy's jowlined beau.

If God existed, he'd send down a comet.
Instead Punch remains on the stage.
Oatmeal holocaust to his own existence,
He slouches, his make-up smears

Judy, she cackles and gropes at her boyfriend,
and vainly makes her presence known.
The cherubim visage of defiled whimsey
naively smiles as she bows.
Track Name: Train Death
A New York subway approaches.
The lights wave, the ground shakes.

The sweaty phone-gazing crowd anticipates
the blinding wind,

and weighs their wilted lives against the train.
It causes sway.
Track Name: Your Flag
If you truly love your flag,
fly it always halfway down.
I will burn one every day,
wading through the putrid mire.

O my god, why do I love you?
Grotesque and vain, you draw me close

And yet I swoon, grateful for your fire.
It's forged my brow I launch into
the rodeo.

My eyes deceive your china vase.
I'm like your rose in poison ichor.

I pined to be a truer woman
as you abuse, bridal I glow.
Track Name: Haunt
Languish, my haunt.

By a ruined well poisoned by the toads,
twisted faces stare: she bathes in lace and weeps.

Her naked torso strains, fights to wash her hair.
Soap and sewage foam, the doughy crowd surrounds.

Evasive crawler, polluted diver.
Mountain bound, washed ashore.

Shake and moan,
youthful grey.
Sweetened witch:
pry open your eyes!
Track Name: Eucharist
Do not doubt our hateful eucharist,
raw messiah I do not taste,
sour wine, white wafers.

We may drain the fuming bile,

light and throw fiery cocktails.
Track Name: Texas Swing
Miami suicidal face tattoos...
Worn-out train riders of Appalachia…
Dosed-out Oakland dropouts…
Redwood eco-witches…

Cascadian water-sprites...
gun-toting mountain folk...
schizophrenia borealis…
traumatized New York faeries…

Midwestern teenage boredom…
Great Lakes queer odor…
Barefoot West-Coast weed wealth…
Ignoble Indian defiance…

Diaspora organized in overdrive…
New Orleans nude reviews…
Misshapen babes of SoCal…
Caliente Southern satanists…
Track Name: The Tortoise, the Hare, and the Skygazer
A few mild ghosts gaze at the tortoise.
A thousand statues pray for favor.
Twinkling like leaves, the tortoise sways
tied in a noose, vermillion.

The cowardly hare jokes and preaches.
Wallpaper ghosts haunt his leisure.
Their puke tastes like shoofly pie;
squire to a newspaper.

One night the Skygazer--a so-called idiot--
views to rare fairy meteors
furiously plow through boundless space,
collide in a violent rainbow.

He weeps with joy and yellow doubt,
weeps with joy and yellow doubt.
Track Name: Patriarch
I am the abusive patriarch of your youth.
i am the benign ladyboy of your dreams.
I am a parachute of wealth out of this riot.
I am the vain tattoo of your abnegation.

I am the slave-driver of your desire.
I am the Freudian dictator of your will.
I am the emotional blackmailer of your worth.
I am the wifemaker of your fate.
Track Name: Dance With Oedipus
Cows: bovine thought
echoes ill through time
One wildebeest mutates,
now genocide.

Move my snake,
shake my hair,
frame space.

Lonely as Freud we created a race,
framing the Human as fairy tale dwarves.

Male poison loins
wielded like a mace.
Minefields of cute mousetraps-
I once was maced.

Sweating and swaying, the mating ritual.
Your yoke to the Hierarch.

I work to slave,
my spine in knots.
Naked I glow,
I'm an island.

Wafts of vagina and soaked underwear.