Duckt@ils' The Fl0wer Lane

I'm scared of this album. Ducky, as I and his close associates call him but Matt M0ndanile to most... well, Ducky is scaring me.

I've always preferred Be@ch Fossils over Re@l Estate for that laidback non-commital beachy-poppy sound. See, Real Estate have always teetered just on the edge of Easy Listening - just close enough to listen to and not be awful cheesy.
Yes, they're two quite different bands, but I kinda see them in the same light. I feel the same non-commital vibes from them.

Ducky has always been Matty's - let's just say escape - escape from the Real Estate vibe; it has always been way more experimental, noisier, more lo-fi, drone-y, all sortsa things.

Listen, my wedding song:

That is definitely going to open the floor at the reception. Hands down.
The desperation. The fear. The one boy shouting at the walls of his mom's basement, in pain and anguish.
Ducky has always tread beautifully on hundreds of emotions.
Whereas Re@l Estate have always just been... well, chill. Maybe I haven't tried hard enough, but Ducky always just grabbed me way harder.

He's better. He's the best. And sexy too.

Now, the problem is this: Ducktails III: Arcade Dynamics was fucken sweet. Yes, it was. You know it.
That fucken song with Pandy where they kill the vibe? Yeah, THAT one.

Also Sprinter. ALSO: fucken Porch Projector. Jesus. I could listen to that for hours: almost nothing guitar lines laid with field recordings of fireworks and people cheering and talking and GUD TYMS, D00d.

So, yeah Ducky III was great BUT:
It was treading a dash too far onto Real Estate territory. And, now, what terrifies me is that this new album isn't just Ducky anymore, it's Ducky and a buncha other bros. He has a band now. It's not just Ducky. Granted, the sound is still mostly there, but...
THERE ARE CHANGES. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
[*runs screaaaaaming into the distance*]

Well, just DL it anyway:
[PASSWORD IS flowerlane]

HERE.

*YOU KNOW WHAT? JUST DL his PREVIOUS ALBUM, NOW, Duckt@ils III: Arc@de Dynamics

And then listen to these whilst you wait:

Please excuse the weird vocal sample. I have NO idea who put that st00pid shite there.

This is off Ducktails IIc30 [a cassette tape he made!]

This is the song he did with Pandy:

and this is Porch Projector:

New. Beach. F0ssils. Holyhells.

I want write about this album proper. Their first s/t release is still stalwartly in my Top 5 debuts. And it seems like it wants to stay there. At least that's what it keeps telling me. IN MY EARHOLES.

**But, I'm not going to write about it.**
IGNORE THAT. JUST READ THE NEXT SENTENCE:
I just want you to have it. NOW.
This album is fucking rad. It kills. It is the shit. Just fucking download it, ok? Ok.
Password is : beach


 Here is one of the singles. It kicks the shit.

CARELESS

Also, the one bro from The Men produced the album, if that gives you the krills.Find the link BELOW.

PASSWORD IS: beach

//TAKE IT//TAKE IT//TAKE IT//TAKE IT//

I can feel it in my bones!

Fuck, I love winter. This is what I tell myself. Many people love the sun. It makes them jump up and down and get filled with rapturous and joyous energy. It makes me feel like shit: lazy, crappy, non-committal shite.
I prefer Autumn, and the crunch of leaves; the threat of cold, the coats: the women's fashion. But then again, girls in summer dresses make me... well... VERY EXCITABLE.

I like the wintry cold, because it's serrated; it hurts, bites, makes me feel more alive. Not a warm puddle on the floor.
But then I remember this Richard Adams quote from his lovely book about all those awesome bunnies, Watership Down:

"Many human beings say that they enjoy the winter, but what they really enjoy is feeling proof against it."

FUCK IT.

HAVE A MIX.
the pass is: winter

And while you wait for that to download, here is Duckt@ils' Porch Pr0jector:

[i don't have to say anything about it]

OH, HERE'S THE TRACKLISTING, IF YOU CARE:

Tw1n Steps

Twin Steps are from Oakland, Ca. and they are indubitably awesome. Undoubtedly. Fucken adjectives. They play a beautiful noisy blend of 60s Soul/Motown-Throwback blended with a fucken shitey noisy awesome-y Garage-Noise sound. It makes me sad I'm not in the band with them. Fucken cunts.

Here, listen to this:

And then, watch them look awesome and talk about stuff.
I'm lazy, I could write more about them, but just judge for yourself, dick-faces. :D

The Descendants...

Chad Liam Polley: "The Descendants. ..."

Vince:
yah
dont know if ive heard them
but ive seen the name around
oh
a film it is i see

C:
Probably s bsnd naame...
hahah
I feel so depressed.
Jesus.

H:
what was it about?

C:
A guy losing his wife and connecting with his kids set in Hawaii.

H:
ooooh
oh

C:
The setting is so important.

H:
i've seen that!
and he finds out from their friends that the wife cheated

C:
The look and feel of the thing hit me so hard. Feels like Durban.

V:
that film?
Yeah.

H:
or she had cancer too?
she died?

C:
She banged her head being reckless

H:
im so bad a t films

C:
It made me feel vicariously depressed.
And, strangely, it made me really want to be a dad.
What an effecting movie.

H:
i remember being sad about it too
i can't watch people die in filoms
anymore

C:
Why?

V:
dunno
i get very very scared

C:
...

V:
even thjough i think bout dying all the time
still can't watch it
just weird

C:
Makes a solis kinda sebse.
typing whilst lying down has made me sound like I have a blocked nose.

H:
hahahah

C:
I'm so tired now, but I don't want to sleep
I'm going to have depressed dreams.
And the look and feel of that movie...
It reminds me of...
something I wish I had...

V:
yeah it is lat there
wnting to be a dad
i've not felt that yet

C:
And just the washed out look of the thing...
Shit. I haven't been this effected by a film in longtimes.

H:
you need to put somthing in your brain to get happy

C:
I just want to listen to Washed Out. It's that bad...
hahahah
Everything is a reminder.

V:
what is washed out


C:

C:
But it isn't going to help, I know.
The look of that film reminds me of every holiday in Durban I've ever had.

H:
that song just makes me ore sad

C:
Exactly.

V:
    :/ [saddish smiley]

C:
I need to stop listening to Chillwave.
It's ruining my life.

V:
what
hahahaha
that's insane

C:
It's half true.

V:
it makes you happy

C:
I am in SUCH a weird mood right now.
But I have had thought of deleting all my chillwave before
because I feel it trickles into your life.

V:
it does
watch you listen to
what*

C:
I thought this would help: silly me.

V:
th original will help
it's more upbeat

C:
Deerhunter...
Cover Me Slowly...

Ah...
Soothing..
Much. Better.


V:
good

C:
But, no, really, those opening swoops...
Jesus.
I love this band.
Some bands can save lives.

V:
they can

C:
Spring Reverb.
I need to fall in love with music all over again.
I feel like I have fallen out of love or we are fighting or something.

V:
hmmm
difficult
you cant go to more good shows
you would love it then
or listen to different msuic
classical music has given me a whole new taste
and new ideas
seeing people perform that stuff
it affects me different than normal band music
band music cant match it

C:

:'(
:)
I feel like I've been avoiding music, in case it hurts me: listening to hazy chilly stuff.


V:
hmmmm
it cant hurt you

C:
Yes it can!!
Look:
[[ JOHN: Will attach a piece of writing ]]
**The cold is serrated but the cardoor remains open; he slumps over the dashboard, the minute bits of wind tickling his reddish-brown hair, wafting it about, in trickles. The dash is cool on his skin and the wintry cold is seeping from all other fronts - his bones feel it, his scars feel it; they are the coldest. He looks at one of his hands - the fresh cuts and grazes - and he smiles at it, as if it knew, as if it has known all this time.

The sun is obscured by cloud above him, shattered shafts of sunlight filter through, feebly, silhouetting a steeple. The bells aren't ringing.
If he listens carefully, concentrates, he can make them appear, in his mind:
They sound out, ringing across the cavernous space between his ears. He concentrates harder, and now, as he lies back in the seat, arms folded behind it, they are ringing across the trees, filtering through the leaves, floating over the telephone wires. His eyes begin to burn fiercely and now the sound is liquid, golden-bronze, palpable, charred by green rust. It buffets birds off their perches who squawk, graciously, as it flows under and around and above them; but never through. He relaxes and the wind depletes it, cuts it into smaller and smaller  ribbons; bites into it with insufferable cold, sharding it. And just as it once was there, now it is gone.

He lights a cigarette as he feels the passing tingle in his hands, then feels them shake uncontrollably. It's been like this for weeks, he says. He shivers, briefly, lets out a yawn and waits, flicking ash every now and then onto the pavement. When the cigarette is done he lights another one, the smoke curling around his face, obscuring the dash of freckles that meant he used to like the sun once and that it liked him back. He blows warmly on the window and makes a mark , with the condensation, and the shardy sun glows on it, slowly, so that it sparkles, glinting with icy fire -  he smiles at it as he switches the stereo on and  the wind whips some of the leaves around as a shimmering cyan liquid sound seeps from the car, like a fog - like a soft benevolent lava - wrapping and writhing itself around objects in it's path, strangling them with joy; it is heavier- almost entirely unlike the golden-bronze of the bells - flecked with orange and pink and and lime green flourescence.
Some time passes, pedestrian feet flick leaves up into smudgy ballerina-like twirls or crunch down hard upon them. After some time Paul switches off the stereo, scrambles to his feet, grabs his backpack and closes the door, locking it. He breathes deep, inhaling the wintry warmth and then makes his way swiftly towards the steeple - it's pull seems hard to fight; as he walks he waves his hand about and around, clearing a path through the leftover cyan, breezing it out and away, to nothing. The sun begins to dissipate out and away and clouds build to form a blanket sky.**

C:
I can see patterns.

V:
music doesnt hurt them
it soundtracks it all
but it isnt the thing that hurts

C:
It's a symptom.

"People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands--literally thousands--of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. The unhappiest people I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music the most; and I don't know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness, but I do know that they've been listening to the sad songs longer than they've been living the unhappy lives."

V:
that is true
but it is the brains fult not the music
havign a creative brain
not being happy come s with that

C:
I hate my brain.
...Arg... I think I am going mental.

V:
last night i tried to switch it off with half a bottle of vodka in half an hour

C:
I know!

[[HERE IS MY SUPER LOSER MIX, IT SAVED MY LIFE]]**THE PASSWORD FOR THE RAR IS wizard