Time Out - Single

Acid Monk Fish

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A cicada took up residence in my bathroom for months. I recorded it. Used it as a metronome in the track. Perfect timing. That insect had a whole lot to say about how the Earth is barfing up the sickness humans have Read more

A cicada took up residence in my bathroom for months. I recorded it. Used it as a metronome in the track. Perfect timing. That insect had a whole lot to say about how the Earth is barfing up the sickness humans have caused.

What came out of that session is "Time Out" — a surreal, "acid-jazz-jump-punk" dark carnival fever-dream that paints a portrait of a community, and a country, unraveling under the weight of its own dysfunction. The American facade vs. what's actually festering inside. Greed, hypocrisy, spectacle — all heading toward a breaking point.

The track introduces a new crop of young players — Alex Cummings on sax, Chase Jackson on bass, Luke Markham on drums — alongside my "Brother From Another Mother" bud, Danny Frankel on bongos. It screams, it haunts, and it will leave you wondering what the hell you just listened to.

Fly the freak flag, change the channel, and enjoy the ride.

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THE CICADA STORY

The Time Out song from the forth-coming Acid Monk Fish album started with a single sound — a cicada that moved into my bathroom and refused to leave. Not a cute background chirp. Not a nature‑soundtrack moment. This thing screamed like it was trying to wake the dead. Every night, every morning, every time I walked past the door, it was there, drilling its rhythm into the drywall like a secret message.

Most people would’ve killed it or chased it out. I hit record.

For months, that cicada became my metronome. My collaborator. My unwanted roommate. It tapped out a pulse that felt older than anything on the radio — older than the American dream, older than the lies we’ve been sold, older than the system that keeps telling us everything’s fine while the floorboards buckle underneath us.

There was something prophetic in that sound. Something feral. Something honest.

While the world kept pretending not to notice the corruption, the complacency, the slow slide into a future we didn’t vote for, this insect was screaming the truth at 120 BPM. Earth is barfing up the sickness we caused, and it took a bug in my bathroom to point it out.

TIME OUT was born from that pulse — not written, but excavated. It’s the sound of a crack forming in the façade. A warning disguised as a groove. A mirror held up to a culture that forgot how to look at itself.

The cicada didn’t care about trends, playlists, algorithms, or the teams of songwriters recycling the same “hit” until it’s flavorless. It didn’t care about the fake American dream or the dystopia humming under the surface. It just told the truth the only way it knew how — loud, relentless, impossible to ignore.

I just followed the rhythm.

Acid Monk Fish  - “A surrealist meltdown of gods, monsters, and the American fever dream.”

Time Out

Step up on my neck bone karma

Light the streets on fire

Sunrise in the smokers chair

The fat man he’s a liar

Money bags are full with greed

The lawn is smartly mowed

Kitchens cleaned with disenfectant

Sparkle ala mode

 

Catfish jumping in the pan

The smell of grease gone bad

Pete’s in the garbage can

His folks are really mad

Potash in the den of sin

The devils brew is bitchin

Mommas hot pants on the grille

The bunny man is missing

 

Clams are biting fish bone choke

Knee deep in the lake

Underwater diving sun

The peasant stew they bake

Married men and woman dance the courtship of the cruel

Out of bound they throw the flag

And time out is the rule

 

Endless chatter fire storm

The sun is getting hot

Coal eyes staring at the sun

The blind shut out the rot

Children gather pots and grin a mighty smile of cheer

Dancing on the graves of men

The past of futures near

 

© 2026 Scot Sier Music

Buchanan Street Publishing

Paparazzi Complimentary Bonus Track

Nexus

"Ms. Jones (We’ve Got a Thing Going On)” In this chapter of the Nexus mythos, the dystopian crooner steps out of the cosmic wasteland and into something more intimate — a forbidden connection with Ms. Jones, a woman who, Read more

"Ms. Jones (We’ve Got a Thing Going On)”

In this chapter of the Nexus mythos, the dystopian crooner steps out of the cosmic wasteland and into something more intimate — a forbidden connection with Ms. Jones, a woman who, like him, no longer fits inside the collapsing world around them.

Every day they meet in a quiet coffee shop, hiding from the crowds who treat life like a spectacle. While society numbs itself with screens, petty jokes, and hollow entertainment, Nexus and Ms. Jones carve out a private sanctuary — a place where they can still feel human.

They share a bond built on truth in a world built on lies.

But their connection makes them targets. The same society that worships fame wants to hunt them down like rats in an alley — because real emotion threatens the fragile illusion everyone else clings to. Nexus sees the world sliding toward frail humanity, a place where hatred starves the soul and the past chains people to their own decay.

Yet he and Ms. Jones refuse to surrender.

Their love becomes an act of rebellion — a warm beginning in a collapsing culture. They hide from the paparazzi, the gossip machines, the vultures who profit from pain. Nexus tells them to turn the page, chase someone else’s tragedy, because he and Ms. Jones have a place the cameras will never reach.

In a world drowning in darkness, sorrow, and spectacle, their connection is the last flicker of authenticity — a reminder that even in dystopia, two people can still find a reason to keep singing.

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