#makingnewenemies

[makingnewenemies]

Walter Etc. - There There is out now!

Happy to add another album into the Walter junk drawer :)

If you’d like the LP you can find it here. 

[30minutesorlessart]

They are now going out into the big world to fight, fuck, and take drugs with strangers, They are no longer your pleasant little secrets. For years you can't listen to you own album without getting upset. Yet still, the muses continue the whispers, satoris hide in the mundane everyday, and you create new secrets swearing you'll never let them go. As a psychological defense, you can't listen to your old albums. You know you will never deliver the same beautiful litter again. But you always remember the insane pleasure you got from creating them and no matter how far they stray from home, the are your kids, an extension of yourself, It's inevitable that you will always love yourself to death. Meandering forward. Enjoying the process more than the result.

-Walt

[niepsbro]

Had a heart-to-heart with a hero, realized we have nothing in common, except we both drive drowsy often, and there's alot we want accomplish.

Walter Mitty AHMO

[newslangliterates-blog]

Wengle the Duddha. A slop novella by Patch Corduroy.

Chapter 1- Where Pelicans Sleep

         All was not well in the East. The Great Recess had bloomed like an apocalypse tulip above the coffin of a great nation. Police cars were dusty. Fire trucks were out of gas. Those who remained had transformed the crumbling infrastructure into their own carnival. The major metropolises had devolved into a network of heathen city states, where hedonism reigned over the new hopelessness. And though the West was also in its own decline, it was always the favored and privileged younger son of the nation. It could not compare belt notches, in terms of natural disasters and social unrest, with its eastward older brother. Despite the guilt and the sunburns, the West was alright for now. Much of the coast remained a concrete paradise, yet still riddled by the post-ironic blues of the Great Recess.          Somewhere in that moment, a young Duddha rests. He was slumped in his mini van, watching pelicans dive for fish in the sunset. Tired from a two and a half year mission, he took a sojourn down the West Coast and came upon this spot a couple weeks ago. He has been parked a summer salt from the sand ever since. His past few days have been spent so idle, he would accidentally fall into an out of body experience, where he’d ponder his life for a brief stint then get distracted by the pelicans again, wondering where they go to sleep. Always he’d think, “wow what a profound thought this is, I should really tell myself to google it when I return to my human form.” But always these ideas would fade like childhood, and when he’d return to his body he’d grab straight for his phone and completely forget what he was just thinking about. Thus the Duddha sat in ukulele meditation, casually loitering in a paradise parking lot.          When the gong of hunger called, the Duddha answered. He walked barefoot across the lot to the donut shop, where the donut shop guy still didn't recognized him. He liked that. He ordered a small coffee and a banana, then walked back to his van under new stars.          The tide was going out and the lot grew empty. He was growing lonesome. A good wholesome lonesome. He took a pee behind the van because there were no public restrooms, and had one smoke to revel in the day. As he began to make his bed in the trunk, the meter maid came meandering up.         “Meters are on for another 30 minutes. And your not sleeping here again.”         “Of course not. Let me look.” and the Duddha leaned deep into the asylum of the passenger seat, tossing trash around aimlessly.          “You know your the greatest lot lizard I've encountered.”                 “Eureka! ” said the Duddha and he tucked a nickel under his thumb. As it plopped in the meter, he edged his body in front of the screen with a force field of confidence. “There, sorry about that.”         The meter maid did not care to look how much time he put in, for he heard the shimmering thump of a coin into his pole, and that was enough for him. 

         $$@#@$$!%@&&!@!~&**^@&^!#@!)_(*&!@#%!@#*()&(^!@#%%

       The Duddha thought waking up to the ocean was of the grandest ways of waking. He could not tell you why. It was unseasonably hot, and as he walked barefoot to the donut shop for his morning coffee and apple, he sang up a little tune that some fleeting muse on a skateboard taught him.                                           Wobal Glarming                         How is this Winter the Beach                         I just don’t recognize things                         Maybe I’m ill

        And on and on in that way because he could not remember the second verse. Eventually people started to look at him funny, so he stood stoic watching the breakers from the little wall that separates lot from beach. The sun felt healthy on his bare skin, and through the smog he could make out Catagonia Island and the oil rigs on the horizon. “This is chill” the Duddha mumbled, and he got off his train of thought right there. For he knew the way of the Tide, and did not expect this bliss to last. At least not for himself.          This is Winter the Beach; where old men arise from the sea with surfboards on their heads to share their wisdom, and sand crabs still trace scriptures beneath the sand; where the ratio of obesity to boob jobs is pretty even, and there’s just the right amount of tourists to keep one’s anonymity; where seagulls meet to discuss politics and where dolphins partake in sexscapades. The Duddha liked it here, and planned to truly dig it the best he could before his life’s ridiculous plotline picked up its pace once more, or the Palm of Providence scooped him up for another ride. 

         ##(&(*@&#(*&@!*#&^!@$^@$^&*^@$)@!&&^*&@^$^!@*^#!^@&&

           When he woke from his second siesta, the Duddha had to pee again. The parking lot was full and the world was wide awake in front of him, but he had experience in these operations.           He grabbed a blanket from his trunk and an empty coffee cup from the floor. Positioned slightly on his side in the driver’s seat, the Duddha began to release his fluid, casually looking around at the scenery. When he had almost filled the entire cup, he coyly opened the door and poured it out, then regained his position and resumed releasing. He went through this process a couple of cycles, thinking “wow I really had to go”, when suddenly he was finished and relieved. He then held perfectly still in order to fully enjoy the moment- this was the salvation the Duddha had been constantly seeking, this was nirvana, the whole flaky love showing up to hang out for once, if only for a second relaxed in a body drained of its existence duties like holding in your fluids all sacred morning.         There was a tap on the window.                  Some tan dude, barefoot, with his blue jeans rolled up like a good boy, and the mustache to make a mockery of it. He wore a gray pull over and an orange beanie. Some funky sailor. His face looked young but had that crinkle in the third eye that aches of a rugged calling.         He was: anonymous and alone in plain colored clothes: the sign of a duddha.           "I’m sorry to bug, but do you have a lighter?” He asked.           "Let me check” said the Duddha, and he pretended to search the abyss of his van with one hand while zipping up his pants under the blanket with the other, then placing the cup of warm lemonade in the cupholder. He had no idea if this guy had discovered his under blanket operation, nor did he care much at the time, but for the rest of their long friendship the Duddha would always wonder if he knew.                   "I can’t find one” he replied after a moment of rustling, “I wanna smoke too, let’s go find someone.” And with total theatrical timing, a limping old man with a seagull on his shoulder walked between them, passing a smoke to the gull.           "Excuse me sir do you have a light?”

        "I’m afraid I do” the man whispered, “but do you know where pelicans sleep?”

        "I’m afraid I don’t.”

        "Talk it over while you smoke,” he said and handed us the lighter. 

        "Always” the orange beanie said.

        It was: a vague and settling response to the outrageous complexities of the world: a sign of a duddha.

        They stood on the small wall that separates civilization from the nature, and watched the breakers roll in gradually bigger sets. 

        "I see your plates are from Rainy Day Land” the guy said, “you traveling?”

        "Traveling in between travels. Yourself?”

        "Heading south to hop a flyer to Catagonia.”

        "Is that where the pelicans sleep?” 

        "Some say so.” And they passed the lighter between them. 

        "Your not put off by the oil rig stuff?”

        "That's why I’m going.”

        "Hm” the Duddha muttered and they both took a long, slow, sunset drag. “You a pirate or an oilman?” The Duddha ventured to ask, which ordinarily would be a heavily loaded question.

        "Neither,” he replied, “yet I empathize with the pirates.”

        "As do I,” the Duddha said, “as do I. Yet it would be against my integrity to join them, because my lifestyle at this point runs on oil.” 

        "Same here” orange beanie guy said nodding to a large gray van.

        "Oh is she yours?” The Duddha sounded in slight surprise.

        "Always.”

        The van was larger and dirtier than his own, and on top was strapped a dark green long board. The plates were from a far away land. There was a towel drying on the dashboard and an Illuminati bumper sticker. Through the window you could see a homemade bookshelf drilled about the window, filled with books and with a snorkel hanging from it. 

        "What’s her name?”

        "Josephine. Yours?”

        "Esperanza.”

        "Touche.” 

        It was: a juvenile obsession with the naming of things: a sign of a duddha. 

        And the new friends stared out in silence, both excited yet too cool to show it. Catagonia rested in the sunset, a violet silhouette, blurry in the smog like a vague and settling response. The oil rigs stood strong, lit up like decadent statues of liberty, taking a bright beating from the surrounding pirate ships. Occasionally there was a loud flash and pop coming off the rigs in the distance, like offbeat fireworks. The Duddha knew that all was not swell in the West.

¥£€%#^%}#}^%#%#^%}#%{#%{]}#]{#{#%}#%}*%+*^^#^*%#

[moderndaypoets-blog]

Walter Mitty and His Makeshift Orchestra- Well Soon

The relatively unknown Walter Mitty and His Makeshift Orchestra make lo-fi indie folk tunes, with low production costs, seemingly recorded in a basement or a garage. The music however is wonderfully written and the album Well Soon flows from start to finish like few I’ve heard before. The lyrics are incredibly strong and capture the struggles of twenty somethings everywhere, just trying to work their way through the puzzle of life. The lyrics are relatable but have a subtle complexity to them at the same time. So If  you’re not really sure where your headed in life and you are sort of just floating along this record unfortunately won’t actually provide you with any answers. What it will do however, is at least make you feel as if you’re not on your own and sometimes that is enough.  Lyric Highlights

I wonder if we could memorize our thoughts, put them into songs, would they ever really change much?-Walks on Alberta

“The remnants of my five year plan are shorter than my attention span”-Full Body Yawn”

[lauren-records]

Walter Mitty & His Makeshift Orchestra - “Well Soon” got 5/5 from New Noise Magazine! Read it, then order the vinyl here: www.lauren-records.com

[makingnewenemies]

GROUP PICTURE VOL. 12 is up NOW!

Much love to all friends and foes reading this. 12 years of a worthlessly worthwhile tradition is really (not) something. Happy to share this with you! Click the lyric tab on Bandcamp next to the song for full info about each artist. 

GP12 will have a zoom party on Dec 28th at 6PM PST. Email makingnewenemies@gmail.com for the link!

[makingnewenemies]

Because we missed Zoom parties! GP11 participants and the general public are invited to hang and share a song, read a mope, dance, whatever. Celebrating 11 years of Group Pic... damn!

[makingnewenemies]

New MNE album added to the catalogue today! Some mne heads might recognize the name Humphrey Orlando from many Group Pictures, well, last winter Humphrey gathered up guitar guru Stone, musical genie Toast, and tuneful hack Walter to come down and hole up in a house on Margaret St. to record his mad hatter musical musings. 

Available on Spotify / Apple / MNE bandcamp... everywhere now!

[makingnewenemies]

New music video for Walter Etc. - “Me Vs the Algorithm” is out today! Written by Alex Crawford and Directed by Chris Vinan and Nahuel Vilar. This video tries to answer the question, if you can’t beat it, then should you join it? Probably ya. 

[makingnewenemies]

New Sour Guy album “New Juice” is out now!!! Listen everywhere and enjoy this sampler young Sour Guillermo made. 

[makingnewenemies]

GROUP PICTURE VOL. 9 is up now!!!

CLICK HERE!!

merry christmas :) 

[makingnewenemies]

Hemingway - “Sure” 

New vid up now! Check out this bit of press they / we got at Washed Up Emo, cause PR is everything right?

Benny made this video himself and I love it, not only cause this is my current fav song on the album, but because he did a good job portraying the beautiful/dreary dichotomy of Portland, OR (and the seemingly endless struggle of trying to coordinate a Hemingway band practice?)

Cheers to mne’s straight edge band. You can pre-order the LP here!

[makingnewenemies]

Hello world! 

For a guy who would naturally not do much social media if he wasnt in a band, there is so much social media to keep up with! But you know, MNE blog will always be the home base for #thoughtsandfeelings...

So Walter Etc. has this split with Diners that is streaming at Gold Flake Paint today. LISTEN TO IT HERE.

The Diners side is really beautiful and innovative. Tyler not only writes really catchy and charming songs, but his instrumentation is always quirky and fun, like a 20teen’s Beach Boys which of course I love. We are really stoked to get to share a release with such a legendary band. Hopefully we can do more together in the future?

I’m stoked on our side as well. I think the recordings are a little funny cause they sound good but also the cymbals sound washy and I would have mixed it a little differently if we had more time and blah blah blah. We recorded it with our good friend Marc at his home studio last January and had a blast making it with him. I wrote Night Swim pretty much write before we went into the studio which is normally not something we’d do, but with the LP already recorded we felt this freedom to really stretch our own boundaries and just see what happens. Also, Every Lousy Paradise was a song that was going to be on Every Town Needs A Cowboy but I never finished it. Then I finished it in Nicaragua in 2014 and we’ve just been playing it for ourselves since. I’m glad its gunna live on through this split. 

Welp there’s a record release show at The Echo in LA on 6/24 w/ Diners and Peach Kelli Pop and I think everyone should go to that. It’ll probably be low key legendary. HERE’S THE TICKETS TO THAT. It’s also super cheap which is chill.

Also you can buy the split from Lauren Records here. 

Also we’ll have it for sale on MNE very soon too. 

Okie have a good one everybody,

- Walter

[makingnewenemies]

JERK SEASON has been updated with rolls from the Puddles of Alligators Tour

[makingnewenemies]

send a message to makingnewenemies@gmail.com and I’ll send you the zoom invite!

Happy Hollow Days!!