I know. I KNOW! By

I know. I KNOW!
By now, we were supposed to have put out the album and started promoting it and begun appearing on the covers of all of the various trade magazines. You don’t have to tell us. We have been stretching and oiling ourselves for these photo shoots we thought were going to happen, but we are still in our house, waiting. And so are you, we know. How can you move forward with your life when you have been using the forthcoming we are scientists album as a benchmark for your life? You have told people, “First I will buy the new WAS album, and THEN I will marry you,” etc. We are so sorry for the delay.
But, it WILL be out, very soon. We can’t say when, though. Soon! Kevin Brady, whose role in the birth of this album is as big (bigger, probably) as any of the actual band members’ roles, is working tirelessly on getting this thing to sound as good as it can possibly sound. Keith went to Miami and tried to master the album with a man who turned out to a bad person with evil intentions. Keith fought him, and Keith was hurt badly. But, we still have the album, and we’ve rescucitated it with our own mastering skills. It will sound the way you want it to sound. Promise.
Also, damn it, can someone please get this site updated a little more often, please?

Reginald W. Lexington

Dear We Are Scientists,

While I recognize that your genius usually lies in the
fields of astronomy, biology, chemistry, and other
hard sciences, I am seeking celebrity opinions on a
conundrum. Hopefully you can shed some light on this
hypothetical predicament.

A few months ago, I woke up from a rather traumatic
dream with deep implications. I had fallen in love
with a very average-looking (in fact, possibly
unattractive) girl. Said girl was something of a
classical “Siren”, given her ability to woo me with
her gorgeous speaking voice. As I fell in love with
her voice, consummating the relationship was
impossible, since I was not in love with her when she
wasn’t talking. What to do? I panicked and didn’t do
anything, ruining the relationship.

How would a veritable rock star such as yourselves
have handled the situation? Note that holding hands
is still possible, but kissing is not.

By the way, when are you going to play in my basement

Reginald W. Lexington

(note: name has been changed. we are not monsters here.)

Dear Mr. Lexington,

You are a silly little boy, but we love you. We love you like you are a pet. Like, a dog, or something. Or, like any animal that we would feed out of a bowl, and then let outside, so it could poop in the yard. Damn, we love you, you stupid thing.

First of all, as classically-trained rock stars, we would handle this sticky situation by romantically engaging this girl’s sister, and then all of her friends from the sorority. Then, we would commence to loving many random female strangers (though the choice of stranger would not appear to be totally “random,” as mere chance would dictate that the percentage of our lady-friends who are stunningly, just mind-blowingly gorgeous (we’re talking, like, model-grade, here) should be much, much lower than it actually is. Clearly, the sexual magnetism exuded by We Are Scientists defies statistics.).

Then, we might put the moves on our associates who happen to be big-time movie starlets.

Sadly, as “the common man,” you do not have this option. So, our advice to you is this: Do not kiss this girl! Girls carry disease germs in their mouths, just as you carry the latest issue of McSweeney’s in your knapsack. Do us all a favor and keep your mouth away from the girls.

Finally, I feel that it would behoove us to point out that the consummation of your relationship need not exclude vocalization on the part of your female friend. Quite the contrary. Chris encourages his dates (many of whom can be seen in various trade magazines and on full-sized posters featuring ferraris and cougars and baby oil) to speak aloud during trysts. Specifically, he requests that they speak in exotic tongues, discuss Beckett, and/or “call [him] Keith.”

Hope this helps.

we are scientists

p.s. – We are playing in your basement at this very moment. Go check.