St. Petersburg

by Vanderlay

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    Limited edition copy of Vanderlays St. Petersburg b/w new tracks Minor Cuts & Saltlines with artwork by the artist.

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All songs found here were written and recorded between 2015 and 2016, in the northern suburbs of Melbourne, Australia.

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released February 15, 2017


Caspar Conrick: Guitar, Vocals
Nick Dudek: Guitar, Vocals
Jarrod Cooper: Electric and Upright Bass
Gabriel Briggs: Drums & Percussion
Alex Byers: Mandolin
Kate Gorrie: Banjo

Produced By Caspar Conrick
Recorded & Mixed by Fraser Montgomery
Assistant Engineer: Nick Edin
Mastered by Adam Dempsey
Album Art & Design by Caspar Conrick

Recorded at The Aviary Studio. Abbotsford, Melbourne. March 2016.


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Vanderlay Melbourne, Australia

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Track Name: St. Petersburg
She’s returning from St. Petersburg, she said she couldn’t make it alone. And on the way back from the airport she says she’s going to build herself a home. And her room still smells like cardamon, it’s as if she never left. But I still feel the void she made that day when I see that new tattoo between her breasts.

So suddenly I’m on the outside looking back into a life I helped to shape. Now the slightest sign of weakness, gives her the cue to lay my crippled heart to waste.

She’s a five four foot tall monolith with eyes that will sink you like a stone. But if she saw her life on a histogram, she’d see that all the highlights are overblown. I know the writings on the wall my dear but if I don’t want to read it, then I won’t. And you can turn my head against my will, but you can’t force a lump in my throat.

And all the while you’re building shelter from the storm that you were so keen to create. Laughing at me through the keyhole, of a thousand locks that you are forcing me to break. And I guess that I will now, cause I’m so blind. Quickly swallow the pill now, before you change your mind.

I guess that you were born for the limelight and I was born to hide.
But give me nine more years, and God help me, I’ll surely turn the tide.
Track Name: Minor Cuts
In my life again, standing on my doorstep wearing a brand new black dress. One that shows the outcome of your cross fit membership.
And in your eyes, I realise, that I’m meant to be impressed and I am, I guess.

Calling out my name, and in the midst of our embrace you re-assign the blame. Decide now that the outcome was always going to be the same and from down in between your legs I feel you pull away. And there’s nothing left to say.

Showered sixteen times. I burnt my tongue with mouthwash and I tried to draw a line between my old ideals and who I had become in time. But any semblance of self-respect had gone out with the tide. It’s either cry or shut your eyes.

Now its 3AM, I’m lying naked sober with blue balls on my bed, recounting all the moments that I know should be left for dead but I win in each scenario I play out in my head. I’ll be a Casanova yet.

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