Head in the Clouds, Hands in the Dirt

by Aviator

supported by
/
1.
02:54
2.
03:14
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
02:22
9.
10.
05:44

about

The debut full-length, available worldwide in digital, CD & vinyl formats via No Sleep Records.

credits

released August 19, 2014

On this recording Aviator is:
TJ Copello - vocals
Aviv Marotz - drums/percussion
Mat Morin - guitars
Mike Moschetto - bass/vocals
Michael Russo - guitars/vocals

Cello on track 5 by Shaheen Lavie-Rouse
Violin on track 5 by Zoë Martel
Additional vocals on track 6 by Andrew McKenney

All music/lyrics written & performed by Aviator
All compositions copyright 2014 Aviator (BMI)

Captured August 2013 at Maximum Sound Studios (Danvers, MA) and September-October 2013 at The Office (N. Andover, MA) by Aviv Marotz & Mike Moschetto
Mixed October 2013 by Mike Moschetto at The Office
Mastered November 2013 by Jay Maas at Getaway Recording (Haverhill, MA)

Art by Thomas Sara

Thanks: Chris Hansen, Ray Harkins, Mark Jourdian, Gary Cioffi Jr., Jay Maas, Joe Boynton, anyone who's ever booked, fed, sheltered, watched, listened to or otherwise supported us over the years. XO / AV

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist

about

Aviator Boston, Massachusetts

Aviator is an emotional hardcore band from the Merrimack Valley.

shows

contact / help

Contact Aviator

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Track Name: Pipe Dreams
When I was younger I made so many plans. I thought that they were within reach but life got the best of them before I could notice. My prime slipped out from under me. Halcyon days. I missed the mark on making the most of me. The future recedes; optimism gives way to bitterness and apathy. Caught between a childhood dream and responsibility, balancing reality with what my mother said to me: “you could do anything, you just can’t do everything.” Now I’m at the crossroads of youthful energy and expectations set on me and all that I’ve learned with any certainty is that all plans are subject to change. Caught between a dying dream and these new priorities, balancing reality with what my father said to me: “you could be someone great, you just need authority.” Some might say I’m not me. I’m afraid I might agree.
Track Name: Weathervane
Put me on a freight train; I’ll start over wherever it takes me, leave it all behind and hope my past won’t try to chase me. No matter how I try to hide, this routine can’t reveal the adventure that I seek, so it’s come to this...so I’ve come to you. Interrupt, intervene, show me what I haven’t seen. Drop me in a foreign country where I don’t know the native tongue. I just want to feel vulnerable again. I just want to feel young. Take away all of my possessions and send me out into the wild. I’m starved of experiences and it’s tearing me apart inside. Breathe new life into these lungs. Disorient me. I’m cold and empty. Put me on an airplane; I’ll start over wherever it lands, leave it all behind and build a new life with my own two hands. I should be a feather floating on the breeze but I’m a weathervane; I only point to where I want to be. Satisfaction is hard to find when static actions weigh on your mind and on your soul. Week by week, day by day, the same old game has lost its cachet. I’ve lost control.
Track Name: There Was a Light (It Went Out)
Is it the stairs creaking beneath my feet or have my knees grown too weak? Are the walls closing in on me or can I just not breathe? When I was twelve I cut my elbow on the glass of a broken window. I climbed through anyway. I would not be swayed from curiosity. I want to see myself that way just one more time. I want responsibility, or at least to see the sun. Staring deeply into a cup of cold tea, at a rippled reflection, a muddled memory. I am not the young man that I used to be. When did this happen to me? How could this happen to me? At times I feel like my feet are stuck to the floor, like these limbs don’t even belong to me anymore. And though I’ve not completely lost faith in the lord, I wish he’d show me the light or show me to the door.
Track Name: Dig Your Own Grave (and Save)
This isn’t what we signed up for. These aren’t the terms to which we had agreed. The rules have changed, the game still in play. The floor dropped out from underneath our feet. The way we live was set up to fail, a house of cards built on shaky land and when it falls we all go down in turn, and when we ask we’re only told that this is the hand we’re dealt so play or else we’re part of the problem too. These chains are forged behind closed doors; we’re kept in this darkened room. I’ll beg and borrow just to get by but I could build a house on hopes and dreams, the currency of broken souls fraying at the seams. Crushed by the weight of this burden, choked on the fog of confusion. To be stuck on this rung after all that I’ve done...I’ll never recover those years. Every hour spent wishing for a way out of this routine, out of this malaise. Toiling to the bone, head beneath the sand. It’s just the price we pay, reminding us that this is the hand we’re dealt so play or else we’re part of the problem too. These chains are forged behind closed doors and we’re kept in this darkened room.
Track Name: Forms (les feuilles mortes)
Old vision dims the light from my memory, and I’m color blind to the beauty surrounding me. Art forms begin taking forms of fallen leaves. On autumn breeze, they float away, condemn the trees. Is it worthwhile? Vacant houses, vacant eyes. It’s all the same. They open up to you, who don’t care to know their names. I have spent my nights falling short, feeling my fingers contort into concrete casts avoiding self­contact. And I guess that might explain why the cursor hasn’t moved in days. It’s so tragic, our perception. Anxiety and discordance alone were never enough to satisfy the disenchantment I’ve come to know. Feeling alone when I’m not alone, this hindrance is my own. With a badge sewn into my skin, angled walls I recoil in. I spend all this time screaming and fiending all meaning. Nothing comes of it. And nothing comes easy. And nothing has worth.
Track Name: I Hold Myself in Contempt
I swear I’m living the same day: the same morning, the same afternoon, the same evening too, and if I can sleep long enough I have the same dream. In my dream it’s always you, it’s really nothing new. The same gray thoughts, the same gray room, a waking memory of false monotony and unfeasible goals lining the walls before me. Is this reality a life worth living when you can’t seem to change a single thing? For better or worse, no emotion to nurse, no direction. You feel cursed. I am fucking cursed. The dead horse of which you speak? The only one I’m beating is me. Happiness I no longer seek; I regress to settle on feeling nothing. At least that’s something.
Track Name: Bipolar Vortex
It’s been a cold summer so far this year. Wrapped up in blankets of bad memories I bring up to make the empty feeling seem worthwhile. I question whether or not I am. The answer is clear in the form of these half­sleep nightmares, like I want to believe. I put black coffee to a bitter tongue to treat my bitter mind, to treat my bitter heart. What have I become? I want to know the touch of your hands like the backs of my own. These problems aren’t my own. Recurring reassurance is one in a million. Falling short beside the garbage heap of insecurities. Seasonal depression weighs through cycles of winter blues and summer grays, so wake me with the falling leaves. This summer doesn’t deserve me.
Track Name: Head Noise
Spending each day taking steps toward a world built anew. Forlorn attempts to find a place without a single trace of you. Some things remain. Something’s still missing. Further down the rabbit hole, turning and twisting. I walk along this road, remains scattered around – some dragged through dirt and mud, some just bones buried in the ground. I’ve walked this very road before, but I wasn’t looking down. If I knew then what I know now I’d have turned the fuck around. Sounds filled with sorrow pushing through every breath. Never thought I’d live to see myself wishing for death. Whether or not I’ve meant it remains to be seen. A year’s worth of memories poisoning every dream.
Track Name: ...But I Won't Be There
I want to leave this stagnant water, I want to breathe the autumn air. I won’t be left to watch you fodder the dying forests of your despair. Too long I’ve watched myself come undone, content with the discomfort inside my head. It seems that everyone wants to feel the sun, but no one wants to leave the comfort of their beds. This gray room is a cancer. Black cloud growing in my chest. I walked you to the door of a vacant heart I’d never call home. You left me on the forest floor where you knew that I would never be alone. So find a place to fight off your demons and please know I still care. One day you’ll see that these words have new meaning, but I won’t be there. So I’ll spend my solemn days with my head in the clouds and my hands tucked firm in the dirt, walking the same rocky paths barefoot so long my feet begin to cherish the hurt.
Track Name: Fever Dreams
Get used to the declension because it’s all downhill from here. Youth wasted on the youthful. We weather out our autumn years. “When I was younger I made so many plans” but they all were made in vain. Life got the best of me. I never stood a chance, only stood in my own way. I’ll live out my days with the same bitter countenance that I’ve worn since I found out that the hourglass ran out and the window of opportunity closed years ago. No one told me to get busy then, back when I was not held down by the weight of my lost ground, yet another victim of gravity. Now I’m hanging by a thread. Days pass me by ever faster, on a crash course for a future of uncertainty. Next to nothing left for me, just whatever life I can salvage for myself. Caught between a dying dream and this newfound maturity, balancing reality with what my instincts are telling me. Wasted days and dreamless nights, drifting aimlessly through endless life, waiting for reprieve that never comes. While we waited, our lives were taking place and we sat idly by. Each day passing is a day that’s gone to waste. It gets harder to keep my head held high.