"Working Class Weirdo" is the 11th full-length album by I Am Hologram, released on May 5, 2023. Serving as a sequel to the 2016 acoustic album "Idiot Savant," this record continues the artist's exploration of unconventional soundscapes and introspective themes.

The album comprises 14 tracks, blending fully realized songs with experimental noise pieces, bass solos, and even a satirical commercial interlude. This eclectic mix creates a "psychedelic acoustic experience" intended to be absorbed in a single sitting, reflecting the artist's penchant for defying musical norms.

"Laureitta", a standout track, is a poignant tribute to the artist's grandmother, Laureitta "Peggy" Tudor. The lyrics convey a deep sense of loss and remembrance, with lines like "I've been walking through walls pretending you're in the next room" and "I failed to see the way you let the light in," highlighting the emotional depth of the composition.

Another notable song, "There's A Light Out In Waco," showcases the artist's surreal storytelling. The lyrics weave a narrative involving "a sneak attack from Mars" and "extraordinary plans to save the moon from little green men," blending whimsical imagery with underlying social commentary.

The album's production is as diverse as its content, with recordings spanning various locations across the United States over two years. Notably, the main guitar parts were recorded in the artist's mother's kitchen on Long Island, New York, while vocals were laid down in a friend's basement studio in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania.

"Working Class Weirdo" exemplifies I Am Hologram's commitment to pushing artistic boundaries, offering listeners a multifaceted auditory journey that challenges conventional genre classifications.

A Working Class Weirdo’s Anthem: A Review by Ishmael Nihil

The album Working Class Weirdo by I Am Hologram is a love letter to imperfection, scrawled in the margins of a life most people wouldn’t dare live. it’s a pocket full of smudged napkins scrawled with the half-mad musings of a man standing too close to the sun. The artist invites you into the smoky haze of his memories, each track a cigarette burned down to the filter. It’s not pretty. It’s not meant to be.

Take Laureitta, for example—a whispered confession to a ghost that’s still too real to let go of. The lyrics hang heavy, not like chains but like well-worn clothes, weighed down with the scent of old regrets and an unspoken gratitude for the light she brought. He sings like he’s pressing his forehead against a frosted window, willing her to answer.

And then there’s There’s A Light Out In Waco, a surreal fever dream where little green men plot their cosmic graffiti. It’s a slow waltz with absurdity, a hymn to the impossibility of escaping the strange orbit of your own mind. The humor here isn’t light; it’s jagged and dry, like laughing while picking glass shards out of your palm.

But this isn’t just a poet playing with metaphors; it’s a craftsman chiseling jagged truths out of raw experience. You hear it in the production—the hiss of rooms too quiet, the guitar strings that buzz just a little too loud. It’s a sound so honest it hurts, like finding an old mixtape you made for someone who doesn’t remember you anymore.

Working Class Weirdo is the soundtrack to the kind of freedom that’s only found on the edge of failure. It’s the courage to stare at your own reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror and still write a love song. The bass solos, the noise experiments, the commercial interlude—they’re not mistakes; they’re the artist’s way of saying, “This is me. All of it.”

The album ends, but it doesn’t let you go. It lingers like the last echo of a conversation you wish you’d said more in. I Am Hologram doesn’t ask for your approval. He doesn’t even ask for your understanding. He just offers you a chance to see the world through his eyes, to hear it through the strings of his guitar, and to feel it in the space between the notes.

Working Class Weirdo is a living, breathing thing. It’s the sound of a soul refusing to be neatly packaged or easily understood. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re all working-class weirdos, just trying to make sense of the mess we’re born into.

Listen closely. It might be your anthem, too.

I've been walking through walls pretending

You're in the next room

Late night T.V. on

That Sunday in your bed

Your eyes were open

In the garden, the last rose

Was blooming just for you

I failed to see the way you let the light in

That time I OD'ed

You came to guide me

I was angry, you know why

If only you could see me now

If you could see me now

I failed to see the way you let the light in

On the mountainside, the sun became your love

The sun became your love

So long, So long

There's a light out in Waco

And a sneak attack from Mars

There's a light out in Waco

Those who carry torches will burn down

I know I told you I knew the secret of the Gods

But they changed the padlock to the guesthouse

And now I'm just an ordinary janitor

With extraordinary plans to save the moon from little green men

I know I showed you paper moths with uranium eyes

But they're a closed group with their own rules and rituals

And now I'm cut from the photographs

There's nothing left to do

But make the lizards dance

Well, I know you're there for me

Lord, it isn't quite the same with out your spotlight

Hanging over me

But, I know you're standing there

Smiling wide between the rainbow and the turnstiles

With teeth instead of trees

There were dogs in the moonlight

Dancing with the cyborgs

Sleeping under the desert with balloons inside their eyes

They were high as a kite now

Drinking with the lions

Drooling onto the topsoil where the peasants defend the king

Don't fall in rabbit holes

You better do what you're told

You better die 'fore your old

What the fuck do I know?

Live as you please

Don't be fooled by disease

Don't waste time on your knees

What the fuck do I know?

In the celibate seas

Where the sailors seize

Mushroom clouds

Free yourself from what you own

Don't wait to bury your bones

Don't isolate in your home

What the fuck do I know?

By the time you read this there will be nothing that you can say

And the Martian rain will wash away all my pain today

I look in the mirror and I know I barely exist

When did these eyes grow so sullen and swollen and weakened?

Every one for themselves today

Blame the heads of state

Which side do you stand beside

When nowhere is safe?

Yea, I'm tired of waking up like this

As you search for relevance

There is none to be had

All of life is fighting to kill you

Before you slither out of bed

Yea, I'm tired of waking up like this

Someone choke these demons from me

There's too many to fight alone

I'm not one to mourn you when you're gone

i crawl underneath the cracks in the floor

i am a serpent at your feet

With one wave of your hand I am helpless again

My eyes hurt from lack of sleep

I lie inside the shadows on the wall

And I wait for tired revelations

I'm falling into Eden with your hands on my back

But you never even seemed to blink

And I try to make amends with all the things that I've become

Close my eyes and try to dream of better things and

I'm alive when I'm inside you but with out you there's no peace

Rearrange the pieces that I've been broken into

My scars I touch with faith that one day they will heal

and we will be as one

your innocence completes me until the end

your scars I touch with faith that one day they will heal

and we will be as one

once and for all I am you