20 Questions - Youngblood Brass Band

Ahhh… f*!*!*k

It’s so much easier to just sing it

Universally loved by British toddlers: («Yaangbluh Brah Blah!»)

By homeless French tuba players: («Youengbluud Bress Baend!»)

By stoned American coeds: («Yungbludd Braas Baand!»)

…Uh-huh.

Let’s see: 6 albums, 15 years, 22 countries --

Who am I?

Try not to love me

I know, right?

For the people coming night after night

My whole life here

Maybe why I don’t have a wife

My lone vice

Kill a drummer, light up a mic

It’s so nice

Youngblood banging some brass

Happened so fast

Summer of lovin', my ass

We got more hot shit than you can shake a dick at

So ill, at the door you get a stamp and a sick bag

You coming to the gig?

I think your lady is

I think she’s having thoughts of having David’s kids

You coming to the gig?

I think your man knows

We got two fully-automatic trombones

You coming to the gig?

I think it’s worth the price

I think the saxophone section dresses awful nice

You coming to the gig?

I heard your mom say:

«I could sit and listen to the trumpets all day!»

Here’s the part where y’all play:

WHO AM I?

…aaand back!

Where you been for the last, like, decade?

Last night?

Sex tape, right hand --

Nahhh, I mean, how could you think that we could quit this sound?

«Well, Nat left the band, it really let me down.»

Understandable

His mandible alone will handle all the tones your band could know

Intangible, like, how you make it danceable?

Hey, bands thinking you can do this: your hands are full.

There’s your answer, folks

You can have the notes

But it doesn’t mean your music’s not a joke

And I don’t care what kind of funny hat you’re tipping, friend

Just because you play a horn, you ain’t sitting in

«Don't be mean!

That’s my boyfriend Vincent!»

Listen: asshole is my preexisting condition

I rap, it’s my job description

Well, that and dissin'

But for real, kids:

You coming to the gig?

I heard it’s so bomb

I heard they got not one but two dudes on the floor toms

You coming to the gig?

It’s not a lot of cash

I’d cut off a nut to get the tuba’s autograph

You coming to the gig?

Well France is kinda far…

Too bad, you shoulda seen the staff dancing on the bar

You coming to the gig?

Don’t wanna miss the boat

You can tell your crew that one time Mr. Skogen missed a note

Hey mister tenor saxophone

WHO AM I?

WHO AM I?

Couple things:

We don’t listen to anyone else’s say-so

We don’t got stage clothes

We don’t make great dough

We don’t play lame shows

We don’t do tame prose

And if you’re trying to break our balls, you better aim low

We do blaze foes

We do flame-throw

We do maim those sticking with the same old lame-o play-dough preschool-age flow

Don’t know 'bout fame though

You know my name, though

You coming to the gig?

It’s off the hook, right?

I’ll play your kindergarten graduation, book flights!

You coming to the gig?

There’s no one else to call!

These ten dudes unplugged trump 'em all!

You coming to the gig?

Yup

Three letters: Y… B… B!

(…forever!)

All night, all day

Getting down, getting loud

WHO AM I?

(YOUNGBLOOD BRASS BAND!)

For the kids, for their heads

Every breath till I’m dead

WHO AM I?

(YOUNGBLOOD BRASS BAND!)

For the past, for the now

For the fire, for the sound

WHO AM I?

(YOUNGBLOOD BRASS BAND!)

For the shows, for the fans

For the love for the band

WHO AM I?

(YOUNGBLOOD BRASS BAND!)

WHO AM I?

(YOUNG! BLOOD! BRASS! BAND!)

(YOUNG! BLOOD! BRASS! BAND!)

(YOUNG! BLOOD! BRASS! BAND!)

(YOUNG! BLOOD! BRASS! BAND!)

(I don’t know what that was… but it was a miracle.)