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Stick to the Plan

by The Right Here

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Perry "Stick to the Plan" is a gorgeous creation that feels inspired by 90's rock and grunge. The vocals are deep, and feel laced with whiskey, sincerity, and rational, occasionally humorous, cynicism. It is hard to pick a favorite off of this album, but I picked one that feels like a late night conversation everyone remembers that is never spoken of again, but is branded in their minds because it will bring them in to the rest of this record. Favorite track: Leaving for a Reason.
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Released July 15 on Rum Bar Records

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  • Stick to the Plan Vinyl - SOLD OUT
    Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Released July 15, 2016 on Throwing Things Records. Comes with digital download.

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I’m leaving on the last train. So long to the old days. So long to your past mistakes and all the aches that I’ve had. I’ll be living where the ground it cold. I’ll be living where our lives aren’t sold. So long, so long. I’ll be living like a reckless soul. I’ll be living like there ain’t no hope. Come and see me when your past is gone, cause I’ll be awake for days. No hope when your guess is wrong. No hope when it’s been too long. And I’ll pass it all along. I’ll pass it all along. I pulled it off of all the doors. And I pulled it off and hoped for more. I can’t decide. No I can’t decide. That all is better. That all is better. And I’ll march right in a burn this cellar. I’ll be dead inside. You’ll be close behind and I can hear you say, “Cover your eyes and go. For all you think you know. And all you think it shows.” Cause I can’t and I won’t and I’ll go. For all you think you know. And all you think it shows. I’m leaving on the last train. So long to the old days. So long to your past mistakes and all the aches that I’ve had. I’ll be living where the ground it cold. I’ll be living where our lives aren’t sold. So long, so long.
Dear Sir, poor sir, brave sir. I am the Maker of the Universe. Killing and caring machines and everything’s been rehearsed. See, you came into this world just to bounce around. Then you left amen. Wrote your name in the ground. Ah, to be bored and euphoric and hopelessly thinking aloud. ‘Cause it’s all for me, distressed in Sunday Best. Here’s to your soul nowhere to go. Time starts and stops. Yeah, it’s tick and tock. I’m Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov. I’m the Devil. I’m your brother. I’m everything you’re not
Wake me when it’s over. Judge me when I'm sober. Save me from myself instead of haunting someone else. You said I had my fill of lies and that’s enough. Tell me when it’s something. I’m tired of the nothing. Sleeping through the lonely years. Wasting what I had to fear. It’s just about the time, about the time to set it off. You’re a liar, you’re a stranger, you’re a tyrant you’re a savior. You’re a dilated fool that’s lost along with too many old time hacks that always leads to a straight line down. With no resemblance of doubt I’m telling you, so let’s take this car and drive straight through. Till the sun hits our backs. Till nothing can save us now. To no more heroes. To letting go. To everything we have. See these hard times and city lights ain’t the problem. What we’ve had what we’ve lost, can’t stop them.
It ended in the blink of an eye With a “hold on tight cause we’re all gonna die.” Well come on, sun, give me some more of that great big burning light. Pray to Jesus Christ if you want to. And Sing a little song for those already gone. But the more you sing “Lord” in the refrain, Is the more you would be wrong. Seattle, breathe. Hold on to subtle, shaky feelings. I’m that grand old frown on the faces you don’t know. (And reconvene in Midwestern soil strewn about these ghost town streets.) Things to get by on a Tuesday: Cruising at 30,000 feet, Or a desert drive, Arizona skies, Any way to fall asleep. I can’t seem to shake the Pacific. Guess you’ve been shaking things too. It’s a perfect line in ¾ time Anywhere but here to you. With a little bit of fake it as you go. And “Walking the Floor” in stereo. But on I-5 you’re running wild, And still scared of being alone.
Paying your way under the table. Sure, you’ll drink us there again. And these star-spangled nights with waving stripes and blue and red and white. Say it all. Imagining every getaway. So raise a glass and pick up the phone. Decide or defend and with a gun to your head. Is it you or me or something else that always and never could imply the end? Still the big girls cry and the boys, they start again. And would it be alright if I just made a scene? And I could go all night. Darling, make a scene. And I could all night ‘till the gleaming sight of “sorry, start again"
Living a good life ain’t free. A drunk at the bar once told me. He said, “All my old hopes are gone. I’ve spent them on a lonely sum.” Living a good life ain’t free. So tell me where you’re going, cause it’s alright. it’s alright I know. No need to worry now, cause it’s a phone call, a phone call home. Don’t worry now. I know exactly who you are. And I know just who the hell I’m not. So if we add it all together we might get some better weather. I know exactly who you are. I need to find where I can lay my head and sleep at night. And hold on to all I’ve forgotten it’s worth it this time. I’ve found what I’ve been looking for all my life. I’ll try to write it down so it finally makes sense this time around. Now if you take my name and I’ll hold my breath. These seconds will only last as long as I hold them in my chest. I will drive this thing till the wheels come off. I don’t fall in love so easily. I don’t fall in love with every girl I see. It’s alright. It’s alright, it’s alright, I know. So pack your bags let's go.
It takes more than a photograph to make me feel at home. This town has got a million lights and no end in sight. Well, eighteen, he ain’t my friend. He’s still got those trembling knees and this town has got a million lights and no end in sight. Oh, how these feet get carried away when they meet the road. And please, please believe me when I said I tried to lend a hand. Could you understand? (Never understand). Oh, how that sound keeps bouncing around off empty walls. That distant glow of a town. It’s suffering read from a silhouette. We were puppets attached to strings with masters who were cold or bored or seizing. And now the rent’s fucked up and that kid got old. And oh, it don’t bother me. You can fall asleep, hate yourself, or leave.
Don’t you care anymore? Don’t you even care anymore? That’s fine. Just go back to your motto, “I don’t take chances no more.” She don’t care anymore. She don’t even care anymore. Alright, the time is coming. It’s running out. Are you worth your weight in gold anymore? Are you worth your weight in gold anymore? Well I guess that’s what the selfish are for, after all. Tell me what the point of all this crying and allowing all the empty jars to fill? Just to make this last for hours. And I hope you find your way to a better path. And make this all last. You want to burn it all, before the snow even falls. Cause baby I know it’s all I have to give. Bring me right back down. I’m leaving. I’m skipping town. Bring me right back down. Come around and settle the score. And you’ll be down on your knees like you have before. And the second chances ain’t worth it at all. I’m waiting for the one who gets it all. Cause baby I know it’s all I have to give. I’m leaving. I’m skipping town. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see it. Bring me right back down, I’m leaving town. This is the end.
Selling geography or vices to a down home country place in memory, for reverie. But the volume at which it's said and the books you may have read are discrete, as for belief. It can't be sold or retold. There ain't no doubt. Leaping for faith we're better without. If this land isn't my land and your sign's side says something I'll leave, in good company. So shake that endless skyway and raze those golden valleys for freedom or apology. And set controls to "explode" And could you waste your days with bated breath or a heart on a string. To wait for pearly gates or a shallow grave. Your measuring this soul by the circumference of a hole neck to waist. Yeah neck to waist. And momma can you hear me? I've been screaming His name. Always in vain. As dust clouds roll. You'll stroll.
You can run when no one’s looking. Hit the ground, already moving. Well maybe I caught you drunk and rolling around. Whispering into sheets. When I caught you drunk and rolling around. Singing something. Ain’t it something to hold onto regrets. And picking all that’s left. Baby, I got to run.
Tell me what you want to hear and I’ll tell you a hundred lies. I’d talk for hours after hours just to keep myself alive. And I’d sit all alone. Just keep to myself until the timing and the moment was right. You’d think that all it’d take on this long ride home for one of us to break from this deathly cold would be a heart in hand, a lung in tow. But only what we don’t know would rip this wound right open. All my friends are born again. And they know where you tied me up saying I don’t want to go. Sitting by the fire toasting memories and tires. Until the fumes fill our lungs. Till the pain fills the hours. You could box us up and take us home. And fill up all alone. Dig it up until you lost it all. Until it’s something that can’t hold like a sieve. I feel it all. I think it’s ‘bout time for these old bones to give. We’ll never forget what we were before. I fell in love. But it won’t last long. So the story goes. So tonight, let’s fall to pieces. Everyone of us is leaving for a reason. I want to know. I can’t hardly see. If I stand up without you at all, I’ll fall.
Fine time to claim indecision. Midnight, your life, simple addition. She said, “I want everything you don’t.” So carry on, Sad So Long. It’s the same thing on and on. And even the rain can’t phase the breaking dawn. And you won’t miss me when I’m gone. ‘Cause I’ve got a song. Sure, you got that feeling. It goes, “Something, la la la la, I’m leaving.” Signs pointing west. And on the tip of your tongue. (And shouting your name to a deaf and setting sun) There’s a saying about living, living on the run. Unending war and bolts of lightning. Artistic deaths and second comings. And your god, He ain’t nothing but a lie. And the terrain he’s crossing. And taking every wrong direction. And it’s planes and lines blurring. Changes and unfamiliar places. And she said, “Come back.”. And she said, “Come on, ain’t nowhere a place all its own.” But hold on. Take control. And hold.
You stole my heart. Sold it for nothing. Tore it apart before you threw it to the sharks. And all that’s left you’d think be nothing. But that would mean that it meant something from the start. I came around those cold November days. The frost on the walls, the snow on the ground, this deep decay. I’d fallen off but I picked myself up quick. This rolling around, leaving this town a hundred times won’t solve a simple thing like this. Those nights, those nights. Now take me back to the point of low returns. So I can save myself enough to not get burned. At the very least we’ll leave with tongues tied. The best thing I could give to you is my time. One more we’ll move on with our lives.


Put out on vinyl by Throwing Things Records and on CD by Rum Bar Records. Recorded and mixed by Andy Mathison at Immortal Audio in Minneapolis, MN. - immortalaudio.net
Mastered by Steve Corrao at Sage Audio (Nashville, TN) - www.sageaudio.com/engineers.php


released July 15, 2016

"This is the kind of record you'd expect to emerge from the frigid upper Midwest - 13 heartfelt songs blending rootsy punk rock, alt-country, and rugged all-American rock n' roll." - Lord Rutledge, Faster And Louder - tinyurl.com/jznj3r6

"Moving and shaking their shit somewhere between The Replacements and classic power pop with plenty of attitude this Minneapolis quartet have got the chops and with a swagger they are most definitely delivering it." - Dom Daley, Uber Rock - tinyurl.com/zp8lvrh

"Shit yeah! Straight-up no-bullshit rock'n'roll rumble done with a winning surplus of invigorating go-for-it energy and positively zero needless pretense whatsoever." - Jersey Beat - tinyurl.com/h5c989n

"Whilst we’d hate to be seen to encouraging drinking, this is definitely an album that would sit well on a summers evening with a few cold tinnies. It’s the kind of music that we Brits don’t get very much of, which is a shame." - The Soul Of A Clown - tinyurl.com/j8j4fzw


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The Right Here Minneapolis, Minnesota

We're a jang-a-lang-a-lang band from Minneapolis, MN.

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