KRISTEENYOUNG

KRISTEENYOUNG

BandRock

We, KRISTEENYOUNG (all caps, no space), are a piano/keyboard and drums duo...very bombastic and fiery...rock and roll piano how it used to be...but modern...dissonant and bashing. The vocals are distinctive and I use a wide range...sometimes they border on operatic.

Biography

We, KRISTEENYOUNG (all caps, no space), are a piano/keyboard and drums duo....very bombastic and fiery....rock and roll piano how it used to be.....but modern....dissonant and bashing. My vocals are what some have kindly called distinctive and I use a wide range.....sometimes they border on operatic. I also write all of our music and words (God bless Dorothy Parker). My drummer, Baby Jef, will one day be a household name, just like Desonex...and how many drummers can you say that about these days? We just finished a new album (produced by Tony Visconti) called: Music for Strippers, Hookers, and the Odd On-Looker (that includes a duet called "That's What It Takes, Dear" with Patrick Vaughn Stump of Fall Out Boy). We also headlined the o2/mtv stage at the Hyde Park Festival in London (july 2008). We spent the last two years playing 120 shows with Morrissey, as his opening band.....this included shows all over the States, Mexico, the UK and Europe. We also toured, as opening band, with Ted Leo and the Pharmacists in November and December of 2007. In December of 2008, we toured on our own, in clubs (including The Knitting Factory and Hotel Cafe in LA) all across the U.S. Every show sold out.

New York City is our current place of residence, but we are originally from St. Louis, Missouri.

For more info and press....please go to www.myspace.com/kristeenyoung. For a full press package...please contact Aleix Martinez at Girlie Action PR. Aleix@girlie.com

Lyrics

The Depression Contest

Written By: Kristeen Young

My pain is more abstract…na, na, na, na
and greater than yours.
My tears are more nuanced…na, na, na, na
and deeper than yours.
So, pity me. Harder, pity me. Faster, pity ME.
My story’s an epic…na, na, na, na,
Forget telling yours.

You can try,
but your stock strife
won’t win my
Depression Contest.

My parents were absent…na, na, na, na
and meaner than yours.
The damage was glamourous…na, na, na, na
and SOOO more than yours.
That’s why I’m this…why I can’t do that…why I’m just not…THIS.
My reasons are precious…na, na, na, na.
and better than yours.

You can try.
You can cut and slice.
It’s skin deep in my
Depression Contest.

I win. I win. I win. I win.
I win. I win. I win. I win.
I lose. I lose. I lose. I lose.

My pain is my handshake…na, na, na, na.
It’s firmer than yours.
My tears are my make-up…na, na, na, na.
It sparkles and charms.
I’m such a freak…such a little freak…such a little…
My story’s my mantra…na, na, na, na.
It cradles and arms.

You can try.
You can crocodile cry.
But, it’s the time of my life…
Depression Contest.

Stop Thinking

Written By: Kristeen Young

So, early to bed and lay your big head.
You never (oh, oh, oh, oh)
forget what they’ve said. Tapes play in your head
forever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Please, put it to sleep and put it on me.
Endeavor (oh, oh, oh, oh).
I know you’re well-read, but I’ve new plans for that head.
I’m clever (oh, oh, oh, oh).

Pre-chorus:
Dear, you know I love you to death,
but that’s what your mind has in mind.
Dear, you know I love you to death,
but that’s what your mind has in mind.
Dear, you know I love you to death.

Let it go…all the reasons for “no”,
and stop thinking (ya, ya, ya ,ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya , ya, ya, ya , ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya, ya).

Your witty words said have got you ahead,
wherever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Yes, we butter our bread with your jumbo egghead.
However (oh, oh, oh, oh),
If you don’t head down, you could crack your crown,
and sever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Your thoughts feel like lead. Here’s my lap for your head.
FEEL BETTER! (Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Pre-chorus:

Let it go…all the reasons for “no”,
and stop thinking (ya, ya, ya ,ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya ,ya).

It feels right. So, for once in your life
stop thinking. Stop thinking.
Stop thinking (ya , ya, ya, ya , ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya, ya). Stop. Stop. Stop.

Everybody Wants Me To Cry

Written By: Kristeen Young


Maybe I died just being born.
Maybe they laid eyes and said, “Oh, Lord.”
Maybe I tried a little bit too hard, jarred and marred.
Maybe they hate this song, too, so far.

I want to go home,
but not to my home.
I’ve a dream of home.
I know it’s out there.

OH,

I don’t know what I say,
and I don’t know what I do,
but I know that soon you will join them, too.
It’s true.
Everybody wants me to cry.
Everybody wants me to cry.

Maybe my life is the gods’ big joke.
Or maybe they’d say my name they don’t know.
Maybe it’s this: I’m just plain no good, underfoot.
Maybe the crux is all cock and bull.

Now, it seems, you’re someone
who’s like me…my someone.
I can’t believe, all along,
you were out there.

OH,

I don’t know what I say,
and I don’t know what I do,
but I know that soon you will join them, too.
It’s true.
Everybody wants me to cry.
Everybody wants me to cry,
and they’re satisfied.
Everybody wants me to cry.

Son Of Man

Written By: Kristeen Young


Never again will I let you in.
Never again. Never again.
Not by the flair of your cheeky chin-chin.
Never again, on a whim, my house blown-in.

I, once, swallowed you.
Then, you swallowed me.
Now it’s all just shit, Son.

Never again will you get within.
Never again. Never again.
Vision impaired by your Trojan slick gifts.
Never again will I forget my war path.

I’ve been at your feet
and above your head.
But, I’m of your side, Son.

Never again can I have a friend.
Never again. Never again.
My mouth will care with a peck of a kiss.
But, never again: open-lipped, heart-full-access.

If I can’t talk to you,
you can’t talk to me.
I’m not your employee, Son.

I gave my all to you.
You took my best and left.
You’re just another man, Son.

Son.

Son.

Halfway Across the Atlantic Ocean

Written By: Kristeen Young


The day…
that it became…
clear…
was…
the first time that I saw you for the 150th time,
but can you blame me?
I was reaching, reaching…
halfway across the Atlantic Ocean.

The place…
it socked my square jaw face…
my toe had dipped to rate
and you grabbed me, in up to my waist.
Contrary to unpopular opinion, the water was welcoming warm,
and we slid easily,
wrapped up and reaching, reaching…
halfway across the Atlantic Ocean.

GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re
gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are
gone.

The time…I grope to find
that there is no sign…
with bottomless hope, I’ll dive.
Then, I will swim ‘til my limbs are numb and dim,
With a paralysed hip, I’ll slip, fingertips to sea lip.
Eternally reaching, more than
halfway across the semantic ocean.

GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re
gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are
gone, gone, gone. It’s cocked and loaded when you’re
gone, gone, gone. My knives get sharpened when you’re
gone, gone, gone. It tastes like almonds when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The traffic’s playful when you’re
gone. Take flying leaps when you are
gone. Autoerotic when you’re
gone. See, I’ll be fine when you are
gone.

Mixed Kids

Written By: Kristeen Young


Strange combination, strange combination, strange combination can pop the lock.

All my life, I’d be walking down the street, and people would stare until they’d finally spit it out. “What are you?!”

I’m liberation, sexually, the sharp shot: the revolution’s fertility you forgot.

And then there were times, when I’d play a song I wrote, people would look confused until they’d finally spit it out, “What are you?!”

I’m liberation, sexually, the sharp shot: the revolution’s fertility you forgot.

You try to name it, but we’re all mixed-up.
You can’t conceive it: there’s a new mix-up.
We’re so down. We mix it up.
Mixed kids get it. Mixed kids pop the lock.

Strange combination, strange combination, strange combination can pop the lock.

Now, there are those who look at the people at my shows, and ask, “Who are they? What are they?” until they finally spit ‘em out. “What are you?!”

We’re liberation, sexually, the sharp shot: the revolution’s fertility you forgot.

You try to name it, but we’re all mixed-up.
You can’t conceive it: there’s a new mix-up.
We’re so down. We mix it up.
Mixed kids get it. Mixed kids pop the lock.

Here. Now.

You try to name it, but we’re all mixed-up.
You can’t conceive it: there’s a new mix-up.
We’re so down. We mix it up.
Mixed kids get it. Mixed kids pop the lock.

You try to name it, but we’re all mixed-up.
You can’t conceive it: there’s a new mix-up.
We’re so down. We mix it up.
Mixed kids get it. Mixed kids pop the…mixed kids know it…mixed kids can’t be…mixed kids see it….mixed kids are magical.

And so are we all….MIXED KIDS.

You Must Love Me

Written By: Kristeen Young


Why should I spare your feelings
when no one spares mine?
Can you spare a feeling?....
‘cause I’m surely losing mine.

Bruises on my wrist?
I cannot resist.
Lashes from your tongue
are a serenading song.

You must love me.

Why should I hand you feeling
when it’s not returned in kind?
You can’t handle this feeling
‘cause it’s the bone rattling kind.
So, I placed all my feeling
under concrete skin.
Now, “nothing” ’s the same as “something”
and only hand grenades get in.

Knocks upon my knees,
you’re the only one for me.
Smack marks on my mouth,
I can’t help but shout
"You must love me."

Push me on the playground,
I will take you down.
Pull my ponytail,
you’ll be the one to wail,

“YOU MUST LOVE ME.
YOU MUST LOVE ME.
YOU MUST LOVE ME.”

Why should I spare your feelings
when no one spares mine?
Can you spare a feeling?...
‘cause I’m surely losing mine.

Discography

Music For Strippers, Hookers, & the Odd On-Looker (MARCH 2009)

Set List

We play originals. We have many. We can play various set lengths. It's not the length, it's how you work it.