Tristă cu Frică

by Stefana Fratila

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released July 1, 2014

All songs written by Stefana Fratila.
Recorded and mixed at Black Rectangle Studios.
Produced by Hayz Fisher and Stefana Fratila. Assistant Producer: Trevor Risk. Mastered by Timothy Stollenwerk at Stereophonic Mastering.
Stefana Fratila: electric guitar, keys, ukulele, vocals / Aaron Read: banjo, electric guitar / Ellis Sam: bass / Jonathan Scherk: drums / Thomas Weideman: cello
Cover Art & Design: Sharona Franklin

Genero Sound 2014



Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.


Stefana Fratila

Born in Sibiu, Romania. Living in Toronto (territory of the Huron-Wendat and Petun First Nations, the Seneca, and most recently, the Mississaugas of the Credit River) via Vancouver (occupied, unceded, traditional, and ancestral territories belonging to the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations). ... more

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Track Name: Red
filtered and dialed, ready to see you is my mustered clarity of your loneliness casting aspersions on my own jaw, barren and red! and red! and red cats in my dreams! this silence it means something it’s reaching a climax while we still have something to say I get my mind off I get my mind off, zboară pescaruși jos, I get my mind off I get my mind off the dusky figure the dusky first-timer, he’s with me, blessing and arranging.
Track Name: So Much Goes
I drink your wine. I take time. I sing alone. My input is cold. So much goes on in these our (darker purposes) 28 seconds of buying your florida smile! set a light the season, with its hydrants and many driveways blanketed wet with leaves seemingly becoming the silent declarations of my hesitant love for you. but, just my luck! So much goes what goes on went and your feet tapping at my backside belong only to the friend I am to your friend.
Track Name: Evil
her face is the face of a ghost, mean without her neck. at a Father, suspicious and scared of what is behind a corner in a familiar hallway (from dreams! from heavy dysfunctional vice, from a life led by the paranoia) of a white man smoking. at a Mother, tristă cu frică. ‘Q’ is for quickly which is how fire spreads, himself without his neck.
Track Name: Discourse
the human is under-predictable and mostly auto-pilotable. the tigress, dirty in sadness and wanting to beg out, naturally, kindly. taking with her the tigers and their heads. With my heart on my sleeve I feel it scratched and collecting all scents (of his house, her's, and Hawker's Delight). All of this happens in a bouquet of security because everything will be loved and will be hated. I take up (such) a small space (no space) (banned) gift slips but the discourse continues.
Track Name: Foghorn
situations changing rapidly, these are the words which make up my thoughts, at dawn the fog is thick and my jumpy heart awakes my wrists in a tremour sweetly sounding how excitable! I am on hearing foghorns blow and understanding both parts of the word (foghorn). I don't look for clothes, I look for birds! because even if you can hear me from two halls down, you won't know what it is that I am saying.
Track Name: Blim
write me a paragraph I’ll write you two because I’m wordy, uh-huh. I’ve lived 6000 days with my mum and dad, it’s long, but it’s better than having poor company. Ooo my dad doesn’t forget to pop his collar before he starts the car even though we're late again as any day it’s better than having that buttermilk complexion and always vigilant composition (it’ll haunt me) you will haunt me I thought, everything’s gone green (again) I can’t take it like this. humans are humans (we are what we are). I’m just a blimp floating in the sky blatantly unexpectedly allowancing my time like a volley, I’m coming in. She reads you like a textbook she knows what your motives are she knows exactly what you’re thinking even though you have no clue about her she’s watching you again, she’s not a lesbian, she just likes the way you move. On the railway we drink again to write good stuff and on the railway it comes a bit better because I’m surrounded by people I’m put out by and want to be better, finer (my feet touch you) than your paragraphs and (you don’t seem to care) your compositions, (my feet track you) I guess (you don't seem to care) it all went to good. I reapplied my nail polish cause it all comes off and now it won’t come off and chip like it always does and the outdoor market says I’m okay and your face says it’s alright and even though you’re missing tonight I know you’re thinking about me too. Ooo I’m just a blimp in the sky, I'm just a blimp in the sky. I’d like to destroy you to destroy your name so I’ll never find you in the back of my mind. My time is up. I’ll never know how to get out of this body, I’ll never know how to be somebody else but you seem to know the answer and, attention! to the space rentals they’re winking! and they’re featuring you. My print is over-run and I once wanted to do wheat-pasting but it never worked out cause I was a coward (in fact, you are too) but, wouldn’t it be nice to be like the dark and put up women and men. My thumbs hurt (my thumbs hurt). My thumbs hurt (my thumbs hurt).