Ducktails at the Old Blue Last

Ducktails at the Old Blue Last

02 June, 2009
by: Katuschka

Despite having a name that makes me want to go 'A-woo-ooh' every time someone says it, New Jersey noisenik Matt Mondanile's solo project Ducktails has a serious and dedicated following, and with good reason. Every note drifting from their self-described 'tropical mix-tapes from outer space' is a point-blank nostalgia bullet with your name on it; and this sunny-side up melancholy seems to have warmed the cockles of our stone-cold London hearts. Ducktails have picked the perfect time to tour too: the combination of a balmy Sunday afternoon at the Old Blue Last and music which distils the fabled 'calm during drowning' and serves it up in a Tiki mug with a paper parasol, is too good to pass up.

Support is strong too, in the form of three experimental artists with engrossing (if not necessarily easy-listening) work. Slow Jejeur hold up as an exemplary study in the improvisational noise common to the drone genre. With a menagerie of instruments, skipping through free-form jazz, tribal stomps and something which sounds suspiciously like a deflating balloon; the combined forces of outfits Part Wild Horses Mane and Hunter Gracchus form an infuriating and tempestuous band of voiceless mummers.

Also of Part Wild Horses Mane is drummer Pascal, whose set as Empty Bell Tower features a slightly gimmicky and uncomfortable-looking contact mic in his throat. Whatever noble intentions there are in suffering for his art are slightly diminished by him looking and sounding like a throat-cancer victim, but the drumming was sound, using the drumsticks to reign in wilful rhythms and articulating an eloquent control amidst chaos.

Bloody Claws have Evangelista singer Carla Bozulich at the helm whose wistful vocals merge sublimely with Bloody Claws' erratic backing. The rougher textures of the music add soulful gravitas to Bozulich's singing, and her polish holds the performance in a gorgeous stasis of slick, rapt evensong.

At this point Ducktails come on, although I didn't realise he had until I walked to the front and see that yes, that noise was coming from a prone Mondanile, in a Steve Irwin-style struggle with some wind instrument. An unusual entrance nonetheless, although after about ten minutes anyone more than three feet away from the stage is perturbed. It's a look I have seen on many a novice art-enthusiast's face - torn between confusion and the cool swagger of someone who pretends that staring at an empty stage is totally normal.

Mondanile plays a competent set, but it lacks the inherent sunshine of his best work. A slightly disappointing end to an evening of unique talent, but when you throw your money at artists renowned for their improvisation and who triumph in happy accidents, it's the theatre that makes it so enthralling, and you never know what to expect. 

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Katuschka