I had already planned the day.

We were going to a small town in East California called Julian. 

We had already roped in someone to officiate the wedding. It was only going to be a small, select group of our mutual friends, of which there were only a couple (because we really didn’t get along).

For a long time, I’ve kept quiet about this because I felt like it was all a bit woe-is-me. But, now, having finished this insane record, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my story is not only mine to tell, but also a wildly entertaining account of a total clown slipping on a metaphorical banana peel after banana peel

🍌 🍌 🍌 

So, to sort this all out for myself, I’ve written Adeline an open letter.

It’s open, mostly because I think all our fans deserve to know what inspired this album, but also—as you’ve seen in the text correspondence I screenshotted in one of our earlier emails—because she gave me her blessing.

I imagine you reading this like someone looking at a terrible freeway accident as they drive by.

Sometimes, our miseries make for the best entertainment.

So, as you drive by the wreckage, I hope that, if nothing else, you’re entertained.

Onwards and upwards…


Dear Adeline
are you surprised to
hear from me now?

The neighbor’s been quiet
since mamma died
Polly’s closed down
for good.

I’ve had a long, long time
to think of this, what I would say 

if I could ever reclaim the voice
that once was my own that you took away
until now.

A smoker sings through a hole in his throat,

a rotten bird is cooking on the road.

Oh Adeline, are you surprised to hear from me, dear—

Out from your phone, through snarls of wires, into your ears?

go away

May all our evils circle back around! 

Now that some time’s passed
I’ve come to the conclusion
that I, king of right,
wasn’t right at all
this time.

The time when it mattered,

the time when I had you,

my “love.”


I saw your picture
with my old best friend
and I think
you and him
look just great
for two snakes:

eating your own tails,
at sea with no sails,
living in your dad’s garage
I am thankful for
the bullets that I’ve dodged.


I faintly remember
somebody told me
they had a feeling
that you were no good,
but I couldn’t hear them
cause I wasn’t ready to admit
I was wrong.

Well I’m ready now.


riff version #1, 2018

first drum cut, 2018

Did you know???

🌻 Polly’s is a real coffee shop in Long Beach, CA

🌻 The music video was done, impromptu after a press photoshoot…in one take.

🌻 The wedding cake was homemade!

🌻 The blood on Casey’s face is cornstarch and red food coloring.


solo CAsey live in-studio, 2019

brendan got an “I WAS WRONG” tattoo from @jordanbrilltattoo

Did you know???

🌻The blood on Casey’s face is cornstarch and red food coloring.

🌻The blood on Casey’s face is cornstarch and red food coloring.

🌻The blood on Casey’s face is cornstarch and red food coloring.


Are you surprised to hear from me now?


You know, when I started writing this record I felt completely different about what had happened. 


My mom had just died. 


I cried on a San-Fernando-valley curb with my best friend’s hand on my shoulder.


I thought I was wrong.


I even wrote a song called, I Was Wrong, about being wrong. I wrote most of this album twice, actually. The songs were cold and flat and limp (the songs never lie). I hadn’t figured it out yet, but I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.


Frustrated, I stopped writing for months.


Time passed slow. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t say what. Then, one day, it happened. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. 


I realized I’d rather write a bad song than keep it bottled in for one more minute—I felt like a smoker singing through a stoma.


I scrapped the whole thing and rewrote it.


Somewhere in a dump near LA, buried under a pit-stained tee and a broken guitar strap is a piece of paper with the original lyrics to “Dear Adeline,” and “I Was Wrong,” and “My Best Friend,” and “Stuffed Monkey,” and the others, scratched out with big bold sharpie lines.


Look: I get that there’s nothing novel about a girl sleeping with her boyfriend’s best friend. 


Woe is me. 


Woe is me, I got a call from his girlfriend with the news.


Woe is me, I cried, cross-legged on the floor in front of our wedding cake.


Woe is me, I ate the whole thing with my hands.


You know what is novel? My white-hot anger, now, as I write this letter that I’m sure you’re on the other side of the internet ether reading. Anger at you, anger at him, and anger at myself for letting myself be duped.


In a sense, I was wrong. I was wrong in thinking so highly of you. I was wrong in thinking that there are always two sides to every coin. 


You’re not the only one reading this, you know. 


There are also thousands of Under The Rug fans reading this. 


Fans who, like me, have been duped or fooled or mistreated by people like you.


They are going to listen to these songs, and they’re going to be empowered by them. 


They are going to realize that sometimes it’s okay to be mad. Sometimes it’s okay to be right. Sometimes it’s okay to believe in yourself, unless, of course, you treat people the way you treated me.