Pucker Lips

by Also, Dragons

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about

All music by Also, Dragons
Words by Freya Graf and Robbie Smith


The inception of this tasty collection of ear treats occurred on a lush but committed band incubation trip in an old house on the land of the Gadubanud people, near Apollo Bay.
These tunes were hashed out in between games of Chinese Checkers, early morning surf outings, and monstrous batches of questionable porridge eaten naked on the deck.

The music you experience here has been squeezed through, and shaped by, the unique and scrupulous palates of all 6 members, adding and shaving until everyone had left their flavour in the mix. The recorded culmination of this six-filter democratic process took place on the childhood farm Freya grew up on, on Taungurung country in the Victorian highlands.


Like anything good, Pucker Lips was borne of community. For their generous contributions, we would like to sincerely thank:
Erik Trickey & Jack Bennett, for recording
Erik Trickey, for tirelessly mixing
Nick Burridge, for band photography
Lucas Hauptmann Pereira, for drawing the cover art
Jesse Maskell, for filming us, being a sounding board for ideas, and all the good chats
David Briggs, for mastering
Harley H Hefford, for the title
Dad, Gabriel and Gerhard (and Reuben) for lending their homes to us
You, for listening, and reading this far


Pucker Lips was generated, developed, recorded, released and performed on Aboriginal land, sovereignty over which was never ceded.

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released October 28, 2016

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Also, Dragons Melbourne, Australia

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Track Name: A Stab in the Dark (With a Magic Wand)
I wear my heart on my sleeve, yeah
But all that you ever wear
Is singlets

Which you got from Renaissance for 7 CAD
Then bought four more croissants than you thought you would need
I was hungry when you came and collected your cargo
But nobody on our island foresaw an embargo
I had bet on a bat out of the park
And I had beat with my hands and your heart
A stiff upper wrist from a year of holding onto something

You were swingin' between the party people, St Denis
But by 2.30 they were party poopers just like me
"Who is this fucker from wherever taking up all my bed?"
But we were fucking every second last July with no bed
We met at fourth base back in the first place
A pool of life in Fernando Pessoa’s birthplace
I know you need airspace but this a real case of short breath

Because your body makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry
So that’s exactly what I did that night
But on that occasion it’s more that the world you and I were both made in just didn’t seem right
“Felicitations! You are the first two lovers to feel this!”
But why should I conceal this? I want to unpeel it
Qualify the real shit
And what I feel is:


A stab in the dark with a magic wand
A seismic size-up with no clothes on
Your lap by the lake stained with snot and saliva
Blood spilt in the fight for control


Eleven days in Montreal was more real than twice that time could be
Dream wakes up to reality

You were insistent, measuring distance, but despite all your resistance there was none
but you required some cos our reality bit you too hard and too close to home base of the Home Run
That’s my perception, it's probably easier to stomach cos my guts aren’t in question
But maybe these gums like to think that they bit you, feed eyes that don’t notice you’d already seen through

Delusions of dreams when we’re never asleep
A fantasy pitched at reality’s keeper or backstop
I don’t know, whatever its called
Why these continuous references? I don’t like the sport
Were you caught? A trans-hemispherical rendezvous
touching down onto your might of excitement and
force of my Romeo FOMO - a no-go, dans la ville de 'No Logo'
et pogo exceptionelle

Who casts the spell? These senses are fences, I never can tell
If I’m living my truth and if you’re living yours we’re just building an infinite hallway of doors
Slip your foot in, slam it behind you, open to anything is just endless questioning, mind you
If I start stretching my wrist and you work on your swing
then fantasy baseball is real

(Chorus)

Bubble that we blow up go kaput
Cos we’re breathing as humans
When I go capote
The show, it’s Truman
Track Name: The Froth is Real
I’d like to get my leg over you
Potential consequences make me feel blue
Swamped by urges and desires that are new
Oh please don’t let me slip and follow through

Oh yeah the froth is real
What I’m saying is that the froth is real
You gotta listen now the froth is so real
Frothy froth is real

Oh the places I’d go, oh the things I would do if it wasn’t an issue
To do you, if it wasn’t so taboo, and if it didn’t threaten to fuck our groove
If it wouldn’t cause conflict of interest or distance between us or make everyone else suss
If it didn’t have to be kept so hush hush, maybe then it would not matter so much

I’d like to explore, to floor you, to paw you
I want to adore you, don’t make me implore you
I know you can feel it, I taste it, let’s face it
We got cake now why waste it, we can eat it too
Watching you froth that milk
For my chai latte
At Cheng Ho’s cafe
Oh it starts a partay
Between my oxytocin and my testosterone
As you’re dusting on that bit of cinnamon
I’m lusting from my lady-bone
And I think I need to take myself back home!

Oh yeah the froth is real
What I’m telling is that the froth is real
Oh mama now the froth is so real
Frothy froth is real

Hey hey!
Don’t shit where you eat!
Ugh!
Track Name: Nickelodeon Band-Aids
Stop, take pause, and ask yourself gently
When did my glass get so half empty
The fuller my mind gets, the less I feel plenty
My brain left alone can become quite unfriendly
You can’t pour from an empty cup, or tread water trying to top it up
You’ve got to keep a brimming full jug on hand
of zest for life on your nightstand


Slow clap when the clocks turn back
Cold feet on a cul de sac
Of inhibition indecisions, cos it’s a matter of
Factually living the act that you have written in sufficient fun
Do you trust funds? You are a martyr, this is the front of a gun
These are the trees I have out of my mind
Blood from my knees is one of a kind
How can I find me
And maintain the constant energy to face you?
Break through the cracks in the wall of noise
This was a hall of toys, that’s when I heard my voice
"These ones are girls, these ones are boys" -
Any questions? Pay attention!
-to the blood in your stool’s in the kitchen
Whitegoods glisten
LA LA LA LA
Good whites listen
Euro-, ego- tripping, now connected, if you get affected
Shoulda known better, go getter
Traipsing round in that faux leather
So betcha gonna macho up and pump some cows
Wouldn’t sell now but nostalgia got me champing at the teet
I tell ya


As a child I ran wild up in Highlands for miles
Through granite rocks with no socks, I was quick as a fox
Didn’t live life according to schedules or clocks
And back then my mind was still outside the box
Fuck the box!

I had pen pals not hair gels, my pits didn’t make smells
My only concern was what to show and tell
I didn’t shower or shave, “Well what’s changed then?” you say
In the creek I would bathe, oh the water I’d save
Ain’t no shame!
Fuck the game!

I’d ride my bike up and down
Doin’ mainies in the town
Often falling on the ground
And then homeward I’d be bound
Waah Waah!

Knees bloodied 24/7, slurpees from 7/11,
Milkshakes after school, who the fuck orders Blue Heaven?
Nickelodeon band-aids, sleepover pantry raids
Frilly zuke suits, hair braids
Why couldn’t life stay the same?
Waah waah!
Track Name: VS
I don’t have the energy to combat what I see without denial
~So lucky I can look away~
I’d rather silently believe in my beliefs, it’s much less of a trial
~Luxuries I found, my feet, the ground, the womb~

I prefer to lyrically wax on, wax off ‘bout topics that hardly matter
~Masses heaving on that shit, my spit is gold~
More fun to sing loud, light heart for crass laughs
~More use, the big truth, poetry, humanity~
Don’t have to be so serious
~Seriously, got this~
Chance to throw shapes and dance
~Stand atop the mountain~

I write these words in a fit of epiphanies!
I wanna write about shaggin’ my latest squeeze!

When the world’s going down the toilet
Do we stick hands in the shit or ignore it?
How can we get along if we can’t sing along?
But hey, it’s been a long day, let’s call it
Track Name: The Apocalypse on Wurundjeri Land
No lights on my bike, riding High St in Northcote
I’m happy to fall, but I’m never willing to forfeit my time
So in the shadows I build my own 86 line

I’m at the thousandth outpost lamppost
Shining white into dark places
I breathe, dismount and park it
Smell the carpet from the Social Club
There’s heat from the feet of almost everyone I know
And the walls that surround us all are asbestos

Our voices and ideas congeal, the froth from the tap is real
My tongue bursts its bubbles at a slump on the windowsill
Looking out at everything still
And I’m imagining me as myself in my own biopic

I’ve never seen Mondegreen pull any punches
My hunch is, you’ll throw up jazz like an early breakfast
If you know how to listen
Now it’s 9.59 and time to find cracks in the wall of noise


I yell abstractions from rental homes
Vacuums, inaction for charity
It’s finally mine to swallow


Now it’s after 1, and you can’t get food that isn’t kebabs
Old mate hands me a parcel - another fucking falafel
As dry as the marble into which they carved their words
I’d misheard a songline, so did this country:
‘I just needed you to feed me’

- a mondegreen from its namesake
I was as hungry as an earthquake
So I heard what I wanted to, put burners on the back of you
And started charging 12.50 for toast you can make better at home
But I was never alone here
Now it’s the 228th and final year

And they’ve put an 8 Bit Burger up in Little Saigon
So your kebabs are competing with Yves Saint Lauren
Until the whole world looks like North Fitzroy
But what’s gentrification to First Nations?
And how can I complain about the Smith St stain?

I’m warm, found God
In the hull of the ship that brought booze and bullshit
Her majesty, your travesty
Your creations, adaptations, encased in the land
On which I now stand
Watching the band
But I won’t listen
I won't listen


Cos I yell obstructions from rental homes
Vaccuums dysfunction in anarchy
And now it’s mine to swallow


The heat from the earth
The dust from the walls
The Kulin clock hands
They read, ‘It’s time’
The apocalypse came
A serpentine stream
It fed on its tail, we’re back to a dream

And I can be anything yes?
Tram is derailed, wind and the hail
We can be everything’s entity yes?
Club falls apart, we can restart
You can see I can be more than this business
We’ve been there, it kills us
There’s cracks in the concrete
The waves of reality crash into industry
Where are you? We can feed
Frantic in fractures
Collapse of my structure
My bike’s got a puncture
I cry out for Bunjil