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Mello Music Group

Portraits

by Chris Orrick

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Jason Quentin Teeter
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Jason Quentin Teeter Because you are the bartender's best friend.
Favorite track: Barfly (prod. Onra).
Justin Blackman
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Justin Blackman Outdid yourself. Good shit. Up there with "Look What...". My man is Bob Ross with a mic. Painting vivid pictures. Dont sleep. Favorite track: Anywhere Instead (prod. L'Orange).
kth333
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kth333 Awesome, new jams from Chris. If this early-released track is any indication of what’s to come we are in for a wallop of an album. Thank you very much brother. Take care and all the best, peace! Favorite track: Mom (prod. Nolan The Ninja).
Valve
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Valve This makes me super excited for the next Ugly Heroes album.Verbal and Chris can hold their own, but this comes close to being as good as an Ugly Heroes album on its own. Pure fire. Favorite track: Lazy Buddies (prod. Apollo Brown).
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1.
Still trying to paint you a portrait It never looks right when I force it Somehow your features get distorted Your head's small and your eyes look enormous You know the inside of you's gorgeous But on the outside it gets morbid I got a room full of your paintings And none of them are gonna make me famous They'll collect dust till they're ancient Get tossed out after late rent payments Maybe I'm not right for the era Every picture tells the story of a risk I was scared of And you can feel the self-consciousness Where every pen stroke lacks confidence Maybe I'm having trouble trying to paint you Because I hate you Still trying to paint you a portrait It never looks right when I force it Somehow your features get distorted Your head's small and your eyes look enormous You can't see the tree from the forest You can't fight the war from the fortress You can't pay the bill from the fortune You can't paint the face from the portrait So yeah, maybe I just hate you Maybe everything you've ever said I can't relate to I hate the way you look, I hate the way you dress I hate the way your living room and kitchen is a mess I hate the way you stress, the way you overeat I hate the way you can't get out of bed and oversleep I hate the way you worry, I hate the way you smile With your big rabbit teeth you haven't brushed in awhile I hate your curly hair, I hate the way you stare I hate the way that you pretend you're self aware I hate that you hate everyone, the way you condescend I hate that you get flakey now when making plans with friends I hate the way you spend every dollar that you earn I hate the way you know it and you'll probably never learn I hate that it's a fact it's probably over for this shit Unless you get sober fucking quick Still trying to paint you a portrait It never looks right when I force it Somehow your features get distorted Your head's small and your eyes look enormous You can't see the tree from the forest You can't fight the war from the fortress You can't pay the bill from the fortune You can't paint the face from the portrait I hate the way your brain makes you feel It's a shame you're convinced that the pain isn't real I hate the way you mask it with a drug Hate your body, hate your mind, all it's asking for is love I hate the way that you portray yourself I hate the way that you betray yourself I hate the way that you can't paint yourself But most of all I hate the way you hate yourself
2.
I like going shopping on a Sunday morning Just me in the store at the crack of dawn While everybody else is yawning up at church And these poor motherfuckers gotta work Some of them smile and some of them nod Some of there barely awake on the job And I can't blame 'em, would never shame 'em Given the wages that these motherfuckers pay 'em They're busy stocking from the night before Some try to not vomit from the night before Stayed up a little bit late, maybe a little mistake But at the time, shit it was great Why you ever go to sleep, when you're hanging with your people And fuck that job anyways All day on your feet, seven days of the week And you're barely getting paid Not every story has a point Not every question is a choice Sometimes you let the music play And let it tell you what to say Not every story has a meaning Not every moment has a reason Sometimes you let the music play And let it tell you what to say Sometimes you let the music play I love the smell of diesel on a cold morning Trucks around the back busy unloading The vegetables are fresh, no need to inspect But the deli isn't open yet Tomatoes looking red, bananas looking ripe Like what should I cook tonight? It's fall in Michigan, just grab some veggies and some meat Big old pot, put all that shit in it And let it cook all day Employee in my aisle and she looks my way And says, "How you doing? Are you finding everything?" I notice on her finger is a brand new wedding ring I said, "Yep, how you doing today?" She said, "I'm pretty great, last night I got engaged" I gave her my congratulations And went on my way Not every story has a point Not every question is a choice Sometimes you let the music play And let it tell you what to say Not every story has a meaning Not every moment has a reason Sometimes you let the music play And let it tell you what to say Sometimes you let the music play
3.
Just pour me a stiff drink and leave me the fuck alone My story is missed links and riddled with undertones Of various insults in between compliments Scarily impulsive and overlaid common sense Scoured the universe and scorched the entire earth To find a L'Orange beat to bring you this tired verse From a tired man who once was a firebrand But once he had struck gold, he changed the entire plan Now he walks with a flask on his path Trying to figure out the math of his bills to his cash Trying to make 'em match, even better leave him With a little scratch for his cat and his stash But in between the laughs and the gaffes He's a lit match, without a can full of gas And the fumes, they're never gonna last So at last, he can light a cigarette and just relax Design Flaw Honestly pretty bad, I'm trying to get better at Thinking about what they might leave on my epitaph Or thinking about how I've been treating my better half Or thinking about the shit I'd be doing instead of rap I could be working at McDonald's or at the plant Instead I'm overseas, Cali to Amsterdam Moscow to D.C., Paris to Bellingham But then the mind starts to think... And you know, the mind it connects to the spine And the spine is entwined with the nerves, but I'm fine I'm inclined to the wine and I pine for the time When my crime was the name on the spine Of a book, never mind all the signs, how it looks It's a crime, or at how the law Has it defined and I'm trying to be fine But I'm not, my design is a flaw Design Flaw
4.
So what are you defined by, what is it that makes you? Is it who your clothes are designed by? Or is it in the way that you look at your neighbor Reaching out for help, but a blind eye Is easier to give and you shouldn't feel too bad Everyone is born with their bootstraps And fuck 'em anyways, right? Everybody out here's got the same goddaamn daylight But it's not that simple, the life your born is The same one they'll box you into While you're breaking through it they're waiting outside To tell you they changed the rubric And they paint the Rubik's cube The game's rigged to make sure you lose So when you play the game, if it's all the same Try to play for you And every time you play their rules Either play dead or play the fool Try your best trying to play it cool Play for them then you play to lose Verbal Kent: Is everything I’ve worked for worth more? Than what has fallen in my lap, what I’ve searched for’s Found to be a curse more than a blessin’ learned more from Wounds than the stitches, I put that on my first born Uh....whatchu think I roam the earth for? Dealin’ with life- that’s what the liquor and the herb for Feel it at night, I’m kinda knockin’ with a search warrant Tryna find a self to describe and the words for it Huh, maybe it’s been dormant, Waiting within torment, taking an enormous amount of patience To relate and take in what this world is about, I guess it’s Best to pick a side that feels full in n your heart, testify To test your pride instead of just testing a product rest the Gas pedal stead of perpetually Steppin’ on it Emphasis on effortlessness, been dishonest to myself for too long I think it’s time I made a promise And every time you play their rules Either play dead or play the fool Try your best trying to play it cool Play for them then you play to lose
5.
Met you when I was twelve Met you long before the two of us could know ourselves Met you long before I knew what love is and how that felt And now I'll love you till I say farewell It isn't writing love songs It isn't easy being you when I know that you're sick and worried My behavior is concerning and honestly I don't know what the fucks wrong I wanna move with you to Paris Maybe an hour outside of the city center Where we can sit together if the weathers nice enough Grab a bottle of shitty wine and we can share it Maybe that's too romantic A little corny for our tiny little story Cuz if we end up in a two bedroom one story With our little cat, then I don't need to get pedantic A couple lazy buddies, little house little cat, never saving money On the couch, sipping jack Going crazy honey I think I'm trying hard Trying to focus on these words to make it pretty Nothings perfect so forgive me If my urge to make a strictly Loving song about you isn't perfect by and large Don't think we'll ever grow up And I don't see that as a problem, See, 'cuz we come from the bottom So they leave us with no option But to see the beauty when it's rotten and if it's rotten so what? Take it and make it our own We see the broken pieces And these people on this planet They can treat you so egregious And if we can't understand it At least we don't gotta face it alone I make a pledge to you I don't promise to be anyone A promise isn't anything I'm honest if I'm telling you I'll probably do many things to hurt you Never intentional, otherwise I'm dead to you A couple lazy buddies, little house little cat, never saving money On the couch, sipping jack Going crazy honey
6.
I went to sleep a fifth deep one night when I was twenty-three Woke up sober and hung over age of twenty-nine I've never been the type to keep my feelings discrete Sometimes I try to hide them buried under funny lines Walked outta prison on the second day of January No shirt, no shoes, no service on the flip phone I made that cell my little sanctuary Now I'm worried how I'll feel when I get home I hung my pictures how I liked them Found the perfect place to put them when the window let's the light in And I got used to having cold feet Walking on that concrete And how the jumpsuit fitted on me Most people hate it when it's quiet, didn't hear the way that I did The noise made me appreciate the silence I used to block it out and drift away Maybe leaving was a big mistake I'm just trying to stick to my escape plan I'll be honest, I didn't fit in with the commons And my commissary always was a little light Yeah, I had my problems, oversensitive to comments And I probably had a tendency of picking fights A little loud mouth, but fuck it, I'm out now Time to get comfortable around crowds See what's happening around town, maybe grab a coffee Dig through records down at Found Sound Just keep my head low, my cellmate said so Try not to focus on your cell phone (hell no) Remember you don't gotta do this alone Try not to focus on what used to be home That Stockholm Syndrome could block your vision Put you right back into the same spot you've been in You gotta learn to be more honest with that If you're not careful you might wanna go back I'm just trying to stick to my escape plan Always looking for the next fix, wake up early Time for breakfast, development arrested Signs pointing to the exit Today I'm really gonna test it Don't let it get the best, Chris Have a good day man Just try to stick to your escape plan You're gonna be great man Just stick to your escape plan
7.
I take my coffee with three sugars and some cream Killing myself softly with a puff of nicotine My hearts a motor and I'm clogging the machine Getting up hung over that's just part of the routine Went to doctor, he said "Your liver's full of fat, You better quit the booze," I said, "Well Doc, how dull is that?" My doctor does the Iron Man, I put the bacon in the frying pan DM me recommended diet plans Was gonna kill myself by using exhaust fumes Turns out the regulations made that shit too clean So thanks Obama for the disappointment, now I just avoid it Only time I ever die is in my dreams Most days I can't get out of bed before it's noon Don't wanna leave my room, looking at my phone Knocking on the door, pretend nobodies home Laying in my bed, wishing I was dead Anywhere Instead So baby let's go sell my car and get away Hop on the interstate to any different place 'Cuz next time that you see me, I might not be awake Take what we need and give the rest of this shit away So take me to the universe where Chris is happy So I can kill him out of spite, get a taste of what it feels like Delete my hard drive, reinsert in the Matrix I've had enough of this condition we call real life 'Cuz in this rap shit, people treat me like Chip Baskets But Louie had to jack it, so now I just skip past it And speaking of sad masturbation Losers on computers gave me a bad reputation After consideration, my isn't Red Pill, I had to change it I'm going by my born name And if you got the time to waste to @ me about it Please hang your head in your shame Most days I can't get out of bed before it's noon Don't wanna leave my room, looking at my phone Knocking on the door, pretend nobodies home Laying in my bed, wishing I was dead Anywhere Instead So baby let's go sell my car and get away Hop on the interstate to any different place 'Cuz next time that you see me, I might not be awake Take what we need and give the rest of this shit away
8.
The bottom feeder, God believers Can't foresee winning, but quitting isn't an option either We spit the mantra that Nas delivered the ROC on "Ether" I. WILL. NOT. LOSE. Sick grin while I sip gin from a goblet, see your Holy Grail runneth over with what I've been bleeding Poison melody, aim and poise steadily Pedigree of the Kennedys; bad luck and destiny See the peasantry seek hope in serenity Find heaven in chemistry, unplanned pregnancy Minds caught in zealotry, unlimited weaponry Lower than leprosy, star struck by celebrity No longevity, no story or legacy Erase the future with death the only penalty No identity, trapped in the hegemony Turn neighbors to enemies, repeat the elegy And we got nothing Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky And we don't budge and we don't flinch And we don't shrug, not a single inch Till the day we die Our shoulders holding up that sky They acting like they got the world on their shoulders Looking at us like we're earners or soldiers Fill up their banks or go fill up their tanks Greed, money and death they instill in their ranks But soon enough their little "burden" is over People are learning slow, their co-word isn't covert Not hard to decipher, not murdering Dozers People are waking up the birds and the Folgers Highly classified and preserved in a folder Only to be exposed when the world's turning over Seems like the world's doing homework The rich have spent a hundred years digging their own dirt And we're almost to six feet, critical mass Pitiful let's pickle the pigs feet Feet to the fire so the fire can burn The water's dirty, we fight fire with fire returned And we got nothing Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky And we don't budge and we don't flinch And we don't shrug, not a single inch Till the day we die Our shoulders holding up that sky Fashawn: Are you seriously surprised by the poverty? By default, survivors we gotta be Fuck classism we defy the propriety Use hierarchy to divide the society Like instead of property we get pollyseeds School of hard-knocks, while they get Ivy League We get commissary, they get college fees So logically I went on a robbing spree Obviously, I was jacking for freedom Acting a heathen, trapped in a mentality That was backwards, the reason Instead of leaving the neighborhood We thought we owned, but was only leasing I would grow to believe in: Not waiting on a mule or no acres No patience for liberations, reparations, a better nation Truthfully it's a struggle but I admit I'm Accustomed to my condition, suffering from tradition Still... And we got nothing Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky And we don't budge and we don't flinch And we don't shrug, not a single inch Till the day we die Our shoulders holding up that sky
9.
You know that feeling right before the shrooms hit? Impending doom, living spinning, like what did I do? Am I the only motherfucker who's living under this moon? Feels like it's been twenty-nine years that I've been stuck in this room Try turning, spin the chair, you know how little I know? Eyes burning, smell my hair filled with cigarette smoke And the lights are barely on and I'm fighting back the feeling I'll be fighting this till dawn, maybe sleeping on the lawn And don't look in the mirror (no), you know those issues clear up Quick, you about to tear up (no), you see that shadow coming closer Getting nearer Get reckless when I'm introspective With my hand across my left tit, I swear to God tomorrow Morning after breakfast I'm gonna change, I'm gonna tell all my confessions But for now I'm talking to this whiskey bottle till there's nothing left I'm a bartenders best friend A little bit too open with confessions And I've been charged to protect him And use my scars as my weapons There's not an addict in this world with no excuses Temptation and desire, the scent of it seduces The skill of self-control I've found is hidden and elusive And I'll never find the truth if I remain too reclusive So let me go on my adventure Keep my excitement to a minimum, expectations tempered Never remembered one as cold as this December So, pull up a chair and let it warm you to your center Moderation's for the virtuous Take a look around, you know the devil tends to lurk in us Don't be afraid when the vultures start to circle us The lot of us will die never knowing what our purpose was So have a drink on it or sleep on it The tensions thick enough that you could roll your fucking weed on it You're always in the future when you live in the past 'Cuz bar time is fifteen minutes fast I'm a bartenders best friend A little bit too open with confessions And I've been charged to protect him And use my scars as my weapons
10.
No one to tell us where to run The day the people of earth got jealous of the run Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas Lit a match... So how the fuck I'm supposed to write a rhyme While we're living in the darkest times we'll probably ever see? And I don't mean that as hyperbole You look around and it's unnerving, it's disturbing While the earth is burning to a third degree Deadly water on the rise because of burning seas But no emergency, just the emergence of the anti-science Magnify it while the ants die frying And we can't die trying, the rich control the wars With tomcats high flying Bombs blast, crying moms ask why kids keep dying Might just take one for the team and throat slit these tyrants I mean, these the people supposed to give me guidance? Hiding billions of dollars in Caribbean islands Telling us that we should better ourselves Stand for the flag where veterans fell And sit there silent, come on... Fuck that, they want war, give 'em war, where the guns at? They want more, give 'em more, where the funds at? They got the power, we got the numbers You live by it, then you die by the sword No one to tell us where to run The day the people of earth got jealous of the run Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas Lit a match... He's busy watching all his morning shows Twitter storming in a shortened prose Orange fingers, stubby orange toes Performing for adoring droves Of baskets of deplorables To whom accordingly our story goes History's just rewarding those For the whom the bells of victory tolls So therefore as history shows Recorded and reported so As alternative truth, undistorted oath Backwards the pages of history goes Send a warning to our foreign foes Those torn by war and born by deported homes They're marching forward with their morbid poem And pledge allegiance to that orange throne Red Pill should have taken the blue Make no mistake where Chris Orrick's home Fuck that, they want war, give 'em war, where the guns at? They want more, give 'em more, where the funds at? They got the power, we got the numbers You live by it, then you die by the sword No one to tell us where to run The day the people of earth got jealous of the run Looked up in the sky, filled the air with gas Lit a match... Said "We are not to be outdone!" And every smile turned to char Every rapist, every killer, every child was a star No one could tell us where to run The day the people of earth got jealous of the sun
11.
And now that you've been gone for a decade It's still hard not to cry on my best days Haven't been to your grave in a couple years I'm ashamed, but it's hard Mom. Still fucking weird. Guess I thought it'd get easier Might find some peace in you leaving behind your demons here But here am I turning thirty, just a man on his journey I'm not mad, understand I'm just hurting The more that time goes, the older I get The more I realize the show that you missed It's a whole lot of shit I graduated from college, got a degree in the politics Had a dream and I followed it, cross the country and ocean And you missed all of it But I'm alright though, still walking that tight rope I have my days and I go through my phases Where I'm fazed by the little things, but that's life though And yeah I'm still with Kath Thirteen years and no kids, just a little cat His name's Pistachio, for short we call Stash And I'm still doing rap, but feeling like I'm falling back Steve and Mike are doing good Couple engineers trying to make a better livelihood And Jay's a little trouble maker, hard on him but I love him And I don't wanna see him see him struggle later Dad's doing the best that he can I'm just praying for some rest for that man Wish I could have seen the two of you when you were younger Grow old together, couple things had messed with that plan And my plans need some work of their own Keep you alive with these words that I wrote 'Cuz you'll never meet your grandkids And never see your kids married I guess that's the part that hurts me the most It isn't what you missed before, but what could have been What's to come and what should have been And every year I miss you more I see your reflection in that man in the mirror When I take the time to look at him
12.
Every time I look in your eyes, I see your disguise I read through the lines, 'cuz I know where the lies are And you can try to deny, you know what's inside There's nowhere to hide, 'cuz I know where the lies are I see him almost every day of the week Comes in for his gin, says what's up then he leaves I know his face very well, I still don't know his name But I know just what he's having so I guess it's all the same Only one thing I ever gotta ask: Is it pint, is it fifth, is it liter, is it half? Grabs his bottle and his mixer too Diet 7-UP with a little juice Not much of a talker, but he's nice enough We bullshit about the weather, the Lions, that type of stuff Every so often he'll walk in late, smelling of booze Eyes glazed like he's caught in a daze Those are the days that make me hate my job Try to remind myself it ain't my fault Give him his bottle and he gives me his dollars Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow Every time I look in your eyes, I see your disguise I read through the lines, 'cuz I know where the lies are And you can try to deny, you know what's inside There's nowhere to hide, 'cuz I know where the lies are I heard he's almost thirty and still working for his Dad 'Cuz the music isn't working He says he's got a record deal, label out of Tucson But the story's kind of murky Wanna believe him, it's just something weird He hasn't been on tour in a couple years And even so how'd he make it Europe As somebody that nobody has heard of? And shouldn't he be famous? Not working on a truck for less than minimum wage? He gets paid by the day, where's he get his money? It was cool when he was younger, but he isn't twenty I asked him how the music's going, He said, "Fine," but he isn't one to brag though He said, "How you think the music's going... I'm still loading up a truck at Caramagno." Every time I look in your eyes, I see your disguise I read through the lines, 'cuz I know where the lies are And you can try to deny, you know what's inside There's nowhere to hide, 'cuz I know where the lies are You can live for ten years the way that you want Instead of seventy for someone else But what happens next?

about

No one confronts the abyss better than Chris Orrick. The Michigan ex-factory worker formerly known as Red Pill has spent the last half-decade documenting industrial decay, familial pain, and struggles with addiction better than almost anyone inhabiting this poisoned soil. It’s somewhere between Charles Bukowski and Michael Moore, or maybe Atmosphere if he couldn’t ignore the arsenic in the air.

As Orrick tells it, “Portraits,” his latest album for Mello Music Group is a return to form.

“I tried to strip everything down to what I think I'm best at: simple, concise portraits of who I am,” Orrick says. “Whether that be finding myself through self-portraits, portraits of everyday workers, portraits of the current political moment or portraits of myself told through the eyes of people I encounter daily.”

From the corroded arteries of the blue-collar heartland, Orrick emerges as one of the most incisive and savage critics of Trump’s America. If the American dream is dead, he unflinchingly lays the blame on avaricious corporations, crude demagogues, and structural racism. There’s nothing polemical about it: just warm-hearted, sad-eyed, gin-flooded depictions of a life where there are few right answers but a litany of wrong ones.

The Michigan native is an acerbic poet, but too unpretentious and sarcastic to ever call himself that. In his love letter to his long-time girlfriend (“Lazy Buddies”), Orrick fantasizes about the pair decamping to a town an hour outside of Paris, where they can blissfully split a bottle of cheap wine. Then he mocks himself for being a little corny. But that’s part of its charm—through his ruthless honesty, we can see ourselves as we actually are—prone to idle delusions, indolence, and self-obsessed.

“Portraits can often be overlooked, but there are so many details in the face that tell innumerable stories about what the person portrayed might have been feeling or going through,” Orrick continues. “I'm trying to find those details, within myself and within America today."

On “Anywhere Instead,” he grouses about how most days he doesn’t want to leave his bed until noon, staring at his phone, wishing for imminent death. It’s a nothing matters, gallows humor that anoints him a laureate of existential dread. He captures the terror of the void, the ambiguity of not knowing where or when your next direct deposit will hit. He’s wise enough to understand how little he understands, allergic to cheap irony or forced symbolism. As he points out on stories, “not every story has a meaning, not every moment has a reason, sometimes you just let the music play and tell you what to say.”

It’s obvious how loudly the music speaks to Orrick, who is rarely short of opinions or serrated observation. The somber piano-based melancholy and rugged drums of “Portraits” thump via a gifted arsenal of producers including Nolan the Ninja, L’Orange, Exile, Apollo Brown, and Onra. Only two guest rappers appear, Fashawn and Orrick’s partner in Ugly Heroes, Verbal Kent. Orrick carries the rest of the weight and you sense the Atlas burden he shoulders.

But for the all the poignant complaints, there’s a soulful profundity at the core of the album. It goes further than stress over bills, nicotine and liquor compulsions, and a search for deeper revelation. If you can hear a song like “Mom” without slightly crumbling, you might be iron-born. It’s a eulogy for Orrick’s late mother, dead at 45 without seeing her children grow up, without the opportunity to take pride in her son’s ability to realize his dream—however flawed it can occasionally seem. It’s here where you sense the power of these Portraits. They capture the pain that too many of us feel, that manifests itself in so many distinct ways. For a little while, we understand the raw f&cked up complexity of what it means to be a human being in a lunatic world. The portrait is personal, but it’s all of us too.

credits

released May 4, 2018

produced by Nolan the Ninja, Bruce Wain, L'Orange, Calvin Valentine, Apollo Brown, Samarei, Exile, Onra.
featuring Fashawn & Verbal Kent

mixed by Magnetic
mastered by Joe Hutchinson
graphic design by Linda Fung
photography by Jeremy Deputat
executive produced by Michael Tolle & Chris Orrick.

1. Self-Portrait
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Nolan The Ninja / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson


2. Stories
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Bruce Wain / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

3. Design Flaw
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by L’Orange / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

4. The Rubric
Vocals by Chris Orrick & Verbal Kent / Produced by Calvin Valentine / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

5. Lazy Buddies
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Apollo Brown / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

6. Escape Plan
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Samarei / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

7. Anywhere Instead
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by L’Orange / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

8. Bottom Feeders
Vocals by Chris Orrick & Fashawn / Produced by Exile / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

9. Barfly
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Onra / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

10. Jealous of the Sun
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Onra / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

11. Mom
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Nolan The Ninja / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

12. What Happens Next
Vocals by Chris Orrick / Produced by Nolan The Ninja / Written by Chris Orrick / Mixed by Magnetic / Mastered by Joe Hutchinson

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about

Chris Orrick Detroit, Michigan

Chris Orrick is the patron saint of a poisoned world. The blue-collar MC writes spiteful chants for the permanently scarred, death letters for the forgotten, surly hymns for charcoal lungs. Think Bukowski on an eloquent bender, swapping wine for whiskey, a notepad for a glowing LED screen, the race track for the recording booth. These are anthems for the irate, over-educated and under-valued. ... more

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