We've updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

This Was Inevitable

by Glassberg & The Disasters

I roll up to the club looking dressed for the scene Got my button-down shirt and my skinniest jeans I walk through the door, all eyes on me as I enter Make my way to the stage, find the spot at the center The lights go down, the crowd starts clapping When suddenly from behind me I feel this persistent tapping As a voice originating somewhere around my knee says “Could you please move back so that I can see?” Well, it wouldn’t make a difference to my own line of sight I could be standing anywhere and I’d still be alright But I don’t even turn around as I say “hell no” I’m the super-tall guy at the front of the show I know what you’re hoping and I know what you’re wishing But I’d be giving in if I gave up my position ‘Cause if we traded places, you wouldn’t appreciate this close-up look at the setlist, or the sweat on the bassist You think that you get their discography better than me? I doubt it You’re probably only here because your boyfriend told you ‘bout it If you sit on his shoulders, then I bet you could manage But you won’t get special treatment just ‘cause you’re disadvantaged I don’t know why suddenly I’m the asshole with you shorties always whining, always causing me hassle It’s not like as a child I decided to grow I’m the super-tall guy at the front of the show ...and I mean, seriously, you think it’s that advantageous To reach things up on shelves or see musicians on stages? If you were this height, you’d hardly find it appealing getting leg cramps on planes, hitting your head on low ceilings But you’ll never ever hear the mainstream media addressing the inconvenient narrative of tall-guy oppression Those diminutive bitches’re only preaching to the choir Have you ever seen a journalist who’s six feet or higher? So enough with back-row exile and forced decorum I’m gonna take my grievances to an internet forum ‘Cause if we band together, the world can’t ignore us At shows we’ll stand together just like trees in a forest I know that it’s a stretch but try to see it from my point of view: What’s the point of having stuff if everyone else can have it too? Hey, with that attitude I’d be a great CEO I’m the super-tall guy at the front of the show
You know I tried to kill my inner perfectionist But my inner perfectionist said: “If you want your inner perfectionist dead, you’ll have to do it right” So I stayed in my room from dawn till dusk It really was a daunting task I studied charts, I drew a bar graph, I couldn’t win the fight ‘Cause every time I’m on the brink of new creation I get hung up on the proper punctuation It’s no good when your brain rules your body Makes you want to be anybody but yourself And they say art should be more like Instagram #nofilter between us and them Wait till you feel the urge and then effortlessly spill your guts But I’ve never been good at vomiting Most of the time, I hold it in or Discreetly find a rubbish bin, throw it out or cover it up Because I’d rather spend five hours feeling nauseous Than experience five seconds of catharsis It’s no good when your brain rules your body Makes you want to have any body but your own I used to teach disadvantaged kids I said “It doesn’t matter what you write, as long as you keep writing it.” I was a hypocrite, I went home and banged my head against the wall And I compared their work unfavorably to mine Did I mention they were eight years old? And when I tried to kill my inner perfectionist I just wound up with songs like this one Inconsequential, meta and fun, clever but insincere Because my heart is like the ark of the covenant Melts Nazis if I open it, and In case it falls into the wrong hands, I better keep it sealed So I’ll go and write another work of fiction Hoping no one ever guesses my affliction It’s no good when your brain rules your body Makes you want to be anybody It’s no good when your brain rules your body Makes you want to be anybody But yourself
The window people coming through my door They don’t seem to understand what the doorbell’s for And without any explanation, they begin their renovation They unroll their plastic covers on my floor The window people drilling through my wall They ignore the plasterboard disaster in the hall And under some unknown directive, they accomplish their objective They don’t register my presence here at all They can’t be stopped, or fought, or reasoned with They can’t be slowed, controlled or bargained with They can’t be trained, contained, explained away They just move forward The window people swarming down my street Showing businessmen where they can shop, work, play and eat Can’t you picture yourself in those flats with insulated windows? City living with less noise and better heat Now there’s a new tenant moving in There’s a new designer shelf where my old shelf had been But I’m still sleeping in the corner, eat my cornflakes in the morning Tell my stories with nobody listening The window people knocking down my door Susting off a skeleton they found beneath the floor And with advanced archaeology, try to expand their knowledge About life before the third and fourth world wars But when they blow it up, they leave those bones behind After all, there wasn’t much of use that they could find It was just another hot mess in the name of urban progress Just a casualty of entropy and time...
Finanzamt 04:09
Dear tax official, Enclosed please find my revisions to last year’s returns I’ve scrupulously documented every cent I earned And I added in that decimal in paragraph B Of page 79 on form W3 I hope you’ll go easy on me Dear tax official, Enclosed please find the requested addendum to my revisions I have used nothing but the utmost of precision In providing you the proof I never bought a canoe Between 1995-2002 Oh tax official, I’m counting on you Dear tax official, Enclosed please find the requested corrections to my addendum If there’s anyone nicer up there, feel free to recommend ‘em But I’m sending off the necessary five different forms To track the money that I didn’t make before I was born Am I at least getting warm? Dear tax official, Enclosed please find the requested revisions to my corrections This time I’m positive they’ll pass your most rigorous inspection ‘Cause I quit my job in pursuit of this task Signed everything in blood even though you didn’t ask And as I noticed that your offices are just down the street I guess I’ll visit you in person to confirm your receipt… Dear tax official, I hereby apologize for yesterday’s events Our confrontation got just a little bit too intense And we both said some stuff we’d like to take back Like when I snapped and called you a faceless bureaucrat And you literally peeled off your face To reveal a void from which no light or warmth could escape And for the first time in life, I truly grasped my position As a hack writer and part-time musician in an infinitely indifferent existence I got down on my knees and I begged for assistance And my skull still echoes with your inhuman laughter As you said, “That’s what happens when you don’t hire a Steuerberater” Dear tax official, I regret to inform you I must end our correspondence They’re taking my pens away along with all the other pointy objects And they tell me I’m a ward of the state Yes, I appreciate the irony of my fate My debt to you grows greater and greater each day Enough about me, what about you, your life, your problems? Do you have children, hellspawn, whatever it is you call them? And despite our differences I wish you good cheer And productivity in the new year Signing off now ‘cause the nurses are here But in conclusion,
Thirties 04:21
Girl, you’re in your thirties now; you’ve gone and had your fun In case you haven’t worked it out, your carefree youth is done You’ve got new healthy habits to form, unhealthy ones to swear off Above all this, girl, you need something to take care of I got a plant, just a common household cactus Such an undemanding plant, just for fun, just for practice I was kind to the plant, kept it green, kept it growing Gave it soil, gave it light, played it Mozart and Beethoven But it died very slowly, like a pincushion imploding It had needs I wasn’t previously aware of When I needed something to take care of I got a cat, a little furball who loved to play Very photogenic cat, slightly deformed but in a cute way I fed it treats, I taught it tricks, ran a social media page just for that cat I printed merch, hired it managers and agents But despite all my labors, it ran off to the neighbors’ To this day, they will not say what it was scared of When I needed something to take care of Girl, you’re in your thirties now; the end is close at hand Young people are using slang words you don’t understand But before you call death to the chessboard for that final stare-off Remember this, girl, you need something to take care of I got a child from the black market in Russia Her mom and dad were both on meth, it didn’t take too much discussion I told my friends she was mine, named her Kim like Deal and Gordon Read her books, bought her drums and all the best obscure recordings At the mall is where I lost her; the next morning, the cops were at my door Asking, “is this yours?” as if I was some kind of monster “But I’m not,” I tried to say as they were dragging me away “You see, biology has programmed me to share love And I needed something to take care of”
My grandpa was a miner, my father was a miner I followed right behind them like a dutiful son Down in the Appalachians, I worked for subpar wages For blisters on my fingers and for black dust in my lungs Until the day our foreman, he gathered up his core men Said, “hell, I hate to tell you but your mining days are through But no need for complaining, you’ll undergo retraining It’s time to join the modern world, it’s time to start anew” And that code won’t write itself, boys, that code won’t write itself Fast forward five years later, I’m at an incubator My desk is ergonomic and my boss could be my kid I’ve developed an efficient new mining algorithm That tells a robot arm to do the tasks that I once did My palms are getting soft now, I hardly ever cough now Those years down in the mines are just a blip on my CV “Full stack is my new bedrock”’s the title of my TED talk Old colleagues call from hospitals to say they’re proud of me And that code won’t write itself, boys, that code won’t write itself I’ve got this Marxist cousin, campaigns for basic income He’ll never know the feeling of a chisel hitting stone And though I’ve tried explaining, I can’t say that I blame him For busting up the windows of my new vacation home Because yesterday, that boss kid, he called me to his office Said “thank you for your service, sir, I hope you understand That this new script we’re running makes personnel redundant Why don’t you try a hobby, maybe something with your hands?” And that code will write itself, boys, that code will write itself
My first novel was an unqualified success The next eviscerated by the assholes in the press The changing literary climate made a fossil out of me They laughed at my pretension and my privileged ennui Two or three coke benders later, I was the scourge of the white middle class I needed out and I needed out fast I spun the globe and landed on a tiny island nation With which my country’d once engaged in some colonial relations Where political unrest had messed their best attempts to fix A flailing economy with cruise ship trips and selfie sticks Piles of bricks resembling resort homes lining the beach like old hermit crab shells What better place for a hermit to dwell? I live alone in a fortress by the sea I’m worth a fortune in the local currency I see the currents fall and rise I don’t keep up with current times My day to day routine there was modest, so to speak I had my groceries delivered in a basket once a week I put up a chain-link fence and I got rid of all my shoes Never bothered with the language, well, except the word for booze So the news of the natives’ latest coup filled me with only distant curiosity Like a boxing match on a barroom TV... They came for me at midnight; I’d already gone to bed They made me button up my pants, then put a bag over my head When the leader pulled it off, I was surprised to see her smiling She said, “It must be fate that brought you to this godforsaken island” She had something in her coat; I thought it was a gun Till she slapped it on the table and she turned to chapter one She said: “I’ve read every word of your sordid first-world tale About your daddy issues, Ivy League rejection, fear of kale And I’ve come to the conclusion that it all only makes sense As an unforgiving satire of Western decadence If that was your intent, then you should take a bow for having penned it.” I said, “Come to think about it, that’s exactly how I meant it.” “In this crisis we can’t be content to emulate the West, though Our country’s young and struggling; man, we need a manifesto! Will you channel your frustrations, will you be our chosen one?” This time I saw she actually was holding a gun And I thought about my critics, every zero-star review My ex-agents, my ex-publishers, and all my exes too And I thought about this island and my unencumbered life here And I heard myself cry out for a typewriter Now I’m the figurehead of some kind of people’s uprising, I guess They’ve kept me hazy on the details in case of my arrest But what matters is this manuscript that shows my worldview’s shifted I’ll ship it off to Brooklyn when the trade embargo’s lifted And the world will finally see me as more than some blue-blooded flash in the pan They’ll see the genius that I truly am But until then...
Streetview 03:54
The day the street view van drove by our house I was lying on the couch, the one she’s lying on right now We’d hung our laundry up to dry, colored towels on the line From the beach the day before, shirts I don’t wear anymore Through the shirts, you see the shades; through the shades you see a shape You see me lying on the couch, the one she’s lying on right now Zoom out just a little father, you can almost see my car there Back before it started rusting, now it’s waiting for the dustheap And it seems somehow unfair to exist both here and there Forever lying on the couch, the one she’s lying on right now I called up Mountain View and said, “This map is far from accurate All these stores have long since closed, that old guy there long decomposed Folks might get the wrong impression when they’re searching for directions And see me lying on the couch, the one she’s lying on right now” But they told me, “It’s no use, no one’s gonna get confused Why would there be any danger when you’re the only one who’s changed here? We can’t send a van around every time someone leaves town We don’t stay that up-to-date; what are we, the NSA?” And you’re changing every day, old skin peels, old cells replace Till there’s no common cells between you today and you onscreen Still you’re more or less the same, mechanisms in your brain Are recording every instant, keep your sense of self consistent Instants layer as you grow, like sand turning into stone Like a composite mosaic, you’re the sum of all your data And the data that’s archived is obsolete but will not die It lies there waiting to be tapped, like a photo on a map Yesterday that van drove down my street – I ran and ducked behind a tree Before their digital cameras trapped me in digital amber And then I went back through the trail of pictures, messages and mail And made sure each one was deleted, but in the end I was defeated ‘Cause when I’m dead and Earth explodes, aliens with a telescope Will point it at the sky and scan it, and they’ll find our long-gone planet And because light travels slow, they’ll see the scene from long ago They’ll see me lying on the couch, the one she’s lying on right now
Sharknado! 04:58
Like a tornado A tornado made of sharks Like an avalanche An avalanche made of bears Like a tsunami Filled with electric eels Like a volcano Of flesh-eating microbacteria Things might suck right now But rest assured Someday they’re gonna suck a whole lot more You’re never safe, at sea or on dry land Sharknado will get you in the end You’ve got pneumonia As a side effect of cancer And your dog got run over Because your dad was driving drunk All your money was stolen By your fiancé who’s leaving you And your company fired you Because no one buys shark repellent spray anymore Can’t say you didn’t warn them… I turn my phone off When my mother calls at 3am When I read the paper I always start in back I lock the windows Of my fourth-floor apartment And I never leave home Without clearing my internet history


What’s inevitable? Death, taxes, gentrification. The super-tall guy at the front of the show. And the debut LP from Glassberg & The Disasters, which touches on these things and more with razor-sharp wit and instantly catchy pop melodies.

Frontwoman and guitarist Rachel Glassberg started writing her own songs on moving to Berlin from Los Angeles, inspired by the international indie-folk underground that gathered in the basement of Madame Claude. After self-producing solo EP ...And Other Disasters and going viral on Reddit with the Tommy Wiseau homage “Song from a Room”, she joined forces with bassist Vincent Long, drummer Elke Horner and keyboardist/saxophonist Linnea Mårtensson. As Glassberg & The Disasters, they released the 2016 Berghain bouncer anthem “Let The Right Ones In” to online acclaim and a Berlin Music Video Award nomination.

Their first full-length, recorded over a series of hot summer days in the Moabit studio of Joe Kelly and released on new Frankfurt label Lousy Moon, whiplashes between ‘90s guitar pop, sunny ukulele strumming, twangy country folk and even hip hop. Tying it all together are the lyrics, which combine intricate storytelling, clever wordplay and unexpected flashes of honesty.


released October 18, 2019


all rights reserved



Lousy Moon Records Frankfurt, Germany

Lousy Moon Records is an independent record label based in Frankfurt/Germany. It releases limited vinyl editions and digital only albums and eps. All genres are welcome.

contact / help

Contact Lousy Moon Records

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Report this album or account

If you like This Was Inevitable, you may also like: