Change Counts by Stringfare

We made *Change Counts* because these numbers, the ones that dictate so much of our lives—grocery totals, rent, the cost of just getting by—they don't usually sing. But they should. We started with a whisper, that quiet, almost shameful chirp of a scanner in a place that feels forgotten, a food-desert chapel. That fragile moment, it’s where PriceTag Prophet first lays down a prayer of receipts, not thunder. The violins on those old grocery pallets, their bows threaded with barcode colors, they're not just props. They’re altars. They tell you that dignity isn't just for the rich; it’s in every calculated step, every penny saved, every debt mapped out.

We wanted to turn that hidden arithmetic of survival into something cathedral-sized, a gospel of becoming. You hear it in the way our string quartet, classically trained, yes, but playing like their lives depend on it, weaves those minor-key blocks—like Stravinsky, sure, but with a raw urgency that grabs you. Then the choir stomps, not just for tempo, but for every shared heartbeat, every communal breath. We print every track to VCR tape, then re-amp it through thrift-store PA horns. Why? Because that brittle grit, that tape hiss, that's the sound of struggle, of endurance. It's real. Our snare shots aren't drum machines; they're EBT cards slammed on marble, sharp and undeniable. The sub-weight? That’s a six-foot church organ pedal, routed through analog octavers—it breathes, a calm thunder, giving the low end a liturgical weight that’s both early Kanye and Arvo Pärt. It's a blend that feels fresh, turning dissonance into a kind of reparative baroque.

This album, it's a journey. From the solitary doubt, the trembling readiness of gripping a pen to rewrite your name, to finding that shy, swelling pride. We ask you to walk with us as we transform lack into strength, as the violas climb, mapping the cost of diapers across twelve months in "Section Eight Magnificat"—a moment that will break you open and rebuild you. It’s a cradle song, and it hurts and heals all at once. It's about taking that dog-eared ledger of past weeks, not to curse it, but to bless it, moving from clenched shame to cleansing tears.

When we sing "Change counts, so we count change," it's more than a chorus. It's a truth, a communal chant. You'll find yourself humming those numeric riffs, not just choruses, because they stick like a price tag left on a gift, a reminder that austerity can still sing. We're trying to prove that mercy isn't spare change, but a complete equation. This isn't just music; it's a conversation. It's a danceable mystery. It's about those doors finally unlocking on every block, about turning scarcity into a shared language and transformation into a collective dance. We hope it leaves you with a steady smile that says, "keep going," knowing that count by count, together, we’ve changed what the week means.

Our strings hold down urgent rap and gospel fire. It's real life, played raw and true.