Live in Studio

by Will Wood and the Tapeworms

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LIVE IN STUDIO is an ongoing music series centering on New York based indie music artists and bands. The goal is to create a live performance environment while retaining a studio like sound mix. One take with a multi-cam and multi-track set up, persevering the raw performance of the artist or band.

Newly-formed and hailing from suburban New Jersey, Will Wood and the Tapeworms are a five piece experimental rock band with a flair for the theatrical. Led by singer/songwriter Will Wood, this group of artists don face paint, huddle around a cluster of microphones, and scream surprisingly catchy songs. Drawing influences from everything from show tunes to the avant-garde, Will Wood and the Tapeworms are multi-talented, multi-faceted multi-instrumentalists.

For more information on the band visit their official Facebook page: facebook.com/willwoodandthetapeworms

and you can follow them on their twitter and Instagram account @tapewormsmusic

Director and Editor: Michael Robayo
AD / Camera Operator: Irwin Rojas
Photography: Patricio Robayo
Recording Engineer: Gabriel Francis
Mixing / Mastering Engineer: Jonathon Maisto
Production Company: Site B studios
Check out the official Photo Gallery by Photographer Patricio Robayo at: patriciorobayo.com
Shot and Recorded at Backroom Studios.
For booking information and rates please visit: thebackroomstudios.com/backroom/

credits

released May 1, 2016

Will Wood - Vocals, Piano
Mike Bottiglieri - Guitar
Thomas Finch - Drums
Jonathon Maisto - Bass
Dan Chetnik - Sax

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Will Wood and the Tapeworms New Jersey

"...THE EPITOME OF A PERFORMANCE" -The Aquarian

"YOU NEED TO HEAR [Will Wood and the Tapeworms] RIGHT NOW... A TWISTED, HISTRIONIC TALENT" -NJ.COM

"[BEST MALE ARTIST 2016] EXHAUSTINGLY ENTERTAINING... NEW JERSEY'S NEXT BIG THING... INSANELY MASTERFUL"
-mycentraljersey

"A JOURNEY INTO GLITTERING HYSTERIA"
-AXS ENTERTAINMENT

"FASCINATING...
REALLY SPECIAL"
- DYING SCENE
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Track Name: Red Moon
Red, red moon. Keep on rising.
The sunset soon indeed will bleed in my horizon.
The crescent rests, tethered to the west.
Waxing to the rhythm writhing in my chest.
That crack between the watercolor sky and sea is the
corner where you’re born in the mist.
I might deride the tide, ‘cause I’m pulled as it pools about my feet.
Towards your stolen light, while you’re holding my slight gravity.

Well I walk the equator, chasing the light; little do I know it orbits close behind.
I might remember or might assume, but I only turn around every once
In a red, red moon. I only turn around every once in a red, red, moon.

Red, red moon. When will your shadows break?
Tell the truth; what’re you hiding behind that face?
If matters in then I might space out,
why can’t I take in what you’ve been putting out?
Why do I reject while you endlessly reflect?
While you’re projecting your perfection astounds
Nighttime, please hide my eyes, so the man up there won’t watch me stare.
Teach me to make moonshine, and we’ll get drunk on the spirit of the air.

Well I walk the equator, chasing the light; little do I know it orbits close behind.
I might remember or might assume, but I only turn around every once
In a red, red moon. I only turn around every once in a red, red, moon.

The constellations form infinite paisleys in the sky
The condensation tumbles down and erases my sight
And is it in the nightmare map of the cosmos up high?
Or is it in the signs? Or stranger still, just in my eyes?

Well I walk the equator, chasing the light; little do I know it orbits close behind.
I might remember or might assume, but I only turn around every once
In a red, red moon. I only turn around every once in a red, red, moon.
Track Name: 6up, 5oh, CopOut (Pro/Con)
Six-up, five-oh, pigs come, I cop n’ go.
The blotter shows they got me on the rocks like Galapagos.
Good luck finding critters creepy as me. They shoulda fried me, I’ll give ya PTSD
Vodka shots droppin’ down the throat they been stompin’ on.
Cockin’ guns, lockin’ up, the quotas all for shock n’ awe.
Drivin’s tirin’, and I been hot-wirin’ to make my get away from the jailbreak riot and
Cellmates scrapin’ upon the bricks in the basement,
tryin’ to escape this probation generation- too late!
Crazy fuckers’ gotta do the time.
Committed to the mental ward, committing all the crimes.
I’m alive and kickin’ till the split ends fray.
Maybe plead insane, guilty, but I’m not to blame!
I’m a slave to the main vein, sprayin’ on the mainframe.
Suffering the infrastructure, hoping I can maintain!
Oh how I know how I go how I go. Ask me a question the answer I know.
Yes or no options don’t weigh out and so; I don’t ever see the cons and the pros.

You bare a striking resemblance.
Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’.
You appear familiar dear. You look just like my bathroom mirror.
Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Oh please, let me go!
Please police- is it a test? I won’t know till I’m under arrest.

The drunk-tank’s blood red. Junkie’s gonna relapse.
Some think punk’s dead, me I don’t believe that.
Rock n’ roll gatherin’ the moss till I be that lichen-coated boulder, make you slip,
Bust your kneecap!
Open on the amazon, hide the cure for cancer.
I’m Lance Armstrong, you’re the necromancer.
Slash n’ burn, crash into the 42nd answer,
all my fellow skeletons adore the army ants here.
Flies on my eyeballs, scabs on my elbows.
Heaven knows God’s sittin’ up there like “Hell no!”
Only one thing comes to those who wait. Is it too late to embrace your fate?
My death come swiftly and gently to you.
Mayhem, cry mayday, and oncoming doom.
Save your convictions, they never will do. What you say’s at least 1/6 billionth true.

You bare a striking resemblance.
Some kind of semblance of somethin’ I been rememberin’.
You appear familiar dear. You look just like my bathroom mirror.
Please policeman- no heel-to-toe. Oh please, let me go!
Please police- is it a test? I won’t know till I’m under arrest.