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Hipster Blues & British Birds EP (2010)

by The Young Republic

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1.
Hipster Blues 03:23
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In the last few months I have noticed a girl But she don’t dance at shows. no, she never twirls Hands in her pockets, c’mon baby, it don’t hurt to move You look like one in a million, you are a shooting star So why are you hanging on a slacker’s arm Who drinks PBR and talks music like he knows a thing or two Is he really so special or even that cool? He was reading Dostoevsky and made sure that you knew He also works in the mall, a fact he might have with held from you Ain’t nothing wrong with C.C. or a low level job But when you get home at night don’t waste the hours you got You gotta practice a lot or you’ll be 30 selling CDs used Oooo... Baby be cool. Don’t give me hipster blues My fashion sense has never been too keen But I know you look good in them skinny jeans But do you really want a boyfriend who wears the same clothes as you? Ain’t gonna hate someone for the style of their hair But that’s not style it’s mass production just look over there Six cute girls in the front row with the same bad hairdo It ain’t cool to be ironic or not give a damn Hold lots of high opinions never work with your hands I built up this band, tell me what can he do? Once upon a time I wore my blazer with tees Yes’ it’s true but I aslo used to be sixteen I ditched the chucks, I repented, these are shined shoes Oooo... Baby be cool. Don’t give me hipster blues Oooo... Baby be cool. Don’t give me hipster blues
2.
The Girl's Got Legs For Miles 02:49
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I can’t wait to tour again in the UK (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) There’s a girl over there, I saw her picture on the plane (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) I gotta know someone who knows The chick from the Zutons She wears miniskirts, she’s got legs that go for days (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) She rocks a saxophone, I bet she dances when she plays (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) I gotta know someone who knows The chick from the Zutons She could be married, she could be single I would give anything to mix and mingle with her for a while The one thing I know... the girl’s got legs for miles I can’t wait to tour again in the UK (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) Maybe we’ll be introduced at some BBC soiree (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) I gotta know someone who knows The chick from the Zutons She could be married, she could be single I would give anything to mix and mingle with her for a while The one thing I know, the girl’s got legs for miles I can’t wait to tour again in the UK (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) There’s a girl over there, I saw her picture on the plane (whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) I gotta know someone who knows The chick from the Zutons The chick from the Zutons The chick from the Zutons
3.
Bronagh 03:35
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Shake it out, shake it out of my mind She’s just 17, oh and Lord knows that I’ve tried To shake her out but those big blue Irish eyes Make my knees knock, make my head feel so light She puts that grin on me everytime If only she were mine I gotta know, could this ever work out? (ah - oo, ah - oo, ah - oo) Baby girl, you’re too young right now, oh now, oh now, oh now, oh now, oh now Bronagh, Wish I could know ya a little better Bronagh, Wish you were older when I met ya, who knows we might be together Shake it out, shake it out of my dirty head Gotta get her out but maybe someday back again when She’s 28 and I am 33 Tell me then how much difference could there be She puts that grin on me everytime If only she were mine I gotta know, could this ever work out? (ah - oo, ah - oo, ah - oo) You’re just a... Baby girl, you’re too young right now, oh now, oh now, oh now, oh now, oh now, OH... Bronagh, Wish I could know ya a little better Bronagh, Wish you were older when I met ya, who knows we might be together She puts that grin on me everytime If only she were mine, oh mine, oh mine, oh mine, oh mine, oh mine, OH... Bronagh, Wish I could know ya a little better Bronagh, Wish you were older when I met ya, who knows we might be together Bronagh, Wish I could know ya a little better Bronagh, Wish you were older when I met ya, who knows we might be together
4.
The Composer. The Artist. The Atlantic. 02:49
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How could this be, I only met you once Could I wait a year to take you out to lunch? Oh it seems that way ‘cause you and me We won’t always be across the sea Do I love you? Maybe so, I don’t know I’ll be back again when the new record is out I hope by the spring, you can come hear me sing We can talk once more like we did outside the 100 club I told you, you got old eyes for someone so young I cherish the letters that you send to me From your busy life about twice a week I adore the French you slip in between And the English words you spell phonetically Do I love you? Maybe so, I don’t know You have a tendency to say beautiful things The way you look at trees or when describing The color blue, a royal blue, You are royal too If I could see you tomorrow, tomorrow couldn’t come too soon I’ve been going out with American girls But I get so bored, no they just won’t do When I think of you looking right at me In those pictures you sent over to Tennessee Do I love you? Maybe so, I don’t know If we could be together for a month or more Could I write symphonies on your bedroom floor Would you be my best friend, sew a jacket for me? Oh, I’m dying to see because you’re already The coolest girl I think I’ll ever meet You design wonderful clothes, you draw and you paint I think we think about art in a similar way Impressionism is your favorite style Same goes for me, oh, you make me smile Do I love you? Maybe so, I don’t know Sweet French girl, every week You exchange a sketch for a classical piece of music I write I find it all so romantic The composer, the artist, the Atlantic
5.
So, Here's To Your Death 03:04
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Before we could drive, before we could moan When coming back home was still coming back home Sydney stopped by she said hi for you Before Anna left and Lucy did too So long, we’ve been gone for so long Standing alone and losing belief Looking for crooks and catching the chief There’s no art in life and no prize in this fight The money’s in arms, cards for the rich and white So long, it’s been gone for so long Suitors of fate, two by the sea Our parents’ demands will have us tied down in the street He had violent lips when I kissed him goodbye Like watching old films when Brando still tried When bands were just cool not caught up in scenes When folksingers still learned how to sing So long, it’s been gone for so long So here’s to your death, oh you’re carving out a good career Marks on your head, got the devils whispering in your ear With all due respect, I’d say ‘I don’t care’ I don’t care
6.
An Artist. Am I? No! 03:46
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I want to be an artist but an artist I can not be In a land of fools, phonies and freaks, an artist I can not see You might jump on a chair, dye your hair, call yourself Panda Bear But that don’t mean a thing now do it though? I might strum upon a guitar but an artist am I? No. I went to school in New York City and fell into a band Wore cool sunglasses, polo shirts and wrote some catchy tunes god damn Hear those Lion King-Beach Vibe-Ivy League-Whitified-Semper Phi’d- Grooves on alternative satellite radio I might cite African influence but an artist am I? No. I tried to be a painter, I couldn’t wait for it to dry I filled a car with darts, called it modern mart, make money like Republican I put a lightbulb in my mouth Charged five dollars for the show I might put shit in a can but an artist am I? No. I wasn’t so bad way back in the day But I forgot how to sing when I found something to say I’m the last man alive Who needs a giant microphone I might dine with the President but an artist am I? No. I want to be an artist but an artist I can not be I can rhyme a line, I can play in time, but there’s no soul in the 21st century I’ve looked high and low I’ve read all those paperbacks, Kerouac to be exact It’s hard to find Dean Moriarty when it’s four bucks a gallon Jack

about

Performer Magazine Review
By: Sarah Joblin

If the Beatles and Bob Dylan had a musical love child, the result would be the Young Republic's new EP, Hipster Blues British Birds. The album has a vintage feel, favoring self-penned love songs, a delightful doo-wop number, and good old-fashioned rock and roll tunes that were made for dancing. Lead singer Julian Saporiti's voice has a '60s rocker quality that lends itself nicely to lyrics, decrying the hipster scene in the title track "Hipster Blues," while remaining convincing as he croons out a love song to a girl he hardly knows in "The Composer. The Artist. The Atlantic."

Kristin Weber's harmony vocals soar on the track "Bronagh," while the lush strings on "The Girl's Got Legs For Miles" showcase her virtuosic violin playing and string arrangements. While the most Dylan-esque track by far is the cynical "An Artist. Am I? No." (which catalogues all the nonsense that we as a society are told to accept as art), several of the songs deal with the distinction between art and pretension. Whatever your hipster stance may be, this group has elevated catchy melodies to an art form.

credits

released March 7, 2010

cover photo: my grandparents taken by my dad c. 1980
written and produced by Julian Saporiti
String arrangements by Kristin Weber
published by West Meade Music (ASCAP)
Julian Saporiti: Vocals, Guitars
Kristin Weber: Violin, Harmony Vocals, Organ, Percussion
Cody Uhler: Harmony Vocals
Haley Shaw: Harmony Vocals
Dan Lipsitz: Tenor Saxophone
Sarah Wilfong: Violin
Ben Easton: Piano
Joey Bennet: Guitar
Bob Merkl: Guitar
Chris Miller: Bass
Joe Giotta: Drums

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Julian Saporiti Portland, Oregon

Songs from the good old days.

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