Flight Facilities

Allow me to preface this fucker by saying I have no idea who Flight Facilities are/is/be. Del always slyly slides me shit to listen to that I don't really care to research a history of who is who, I just wait for then good musics to fondle my side-face holes, I giveth no Fucks who you are. But, I responded to a friend's question about what I was listening to that very second while working on some mind numbing data entry shit at worky work.

I was listening to Flight Facilities that very second.

In fact, when dude was asking me what I was listening to that very second, that second I was actively skipping the track I was on because it was absolutely fucking horrendous.

Yes, I am about to discuss some fucking BALLS ass music that is clutched in the same bunch of bananas as music that made me want to murder small woodland creatures. Because we're SYFFAL and we don't shit on shit just to shit on shit, because that shit's shitty, I have chosen not to shit on that shit. Rather I shall suck off ALL THE REST WHICH BE BEINGS AWESOME on the Down To Earth album from Flight Facilities.

This album moves in fucking chapters, it's only consistent until it isn't. When this shit starts out it's carrying a torch with the words Everything But The Girl etched into the metal handle, like so many high school lockers in the mid-80's/early 90's. It's that desperate yet strong lilt that makes you want to both see the voice naked and offer it your flannel because it looks cold bro. And the whole time it's pouring over a beat you'd even love on its own.

Then skip a track, because ew.

Then holy shit, we're into this happily subordinate and immature Royksopp, it feels young and green, but jesus I want to fucking put my fist through the sky I'm so happy to be dancing again.

But then there's this track titled "Apollo".

Holy balls on a rain-rinsed Target Supercenter shopping cart being wiped down by a sanitizer sheet ripped from a ginormous roll fed through a circle cut in the top of a bucket, this song is being 24 years old and having one of those nights that never really ended. You can recall bits and pieces of it, but there's really no start and there's really no end to speak of. Remember those nights that were, at different hours of the night/morning, the worst night of your life for some reason, but then at some point when the sun's about to rise and you're still grinning it's somehow the happiest you can ever remember being in the history of ever remembering when you were the happiest?

"Apollo" is this three minutes and fifty one seconds long nine hour night of your fucking life. You start the night out by nodding your head and tapping your steering wheel. Three hours later you're all eyes closed on a dancefloor with your fists up/elbows out lovin' life. Three hours after that you're head in your hands in a dark alley, barely lit by streetlights a block over, devastated and on the verge of OH GOD MY LIFE IS OVER. A mere hour after that you've forgotten all that fucking noise and you're content to sweat and dance in slow motion by yourself with the biggest shit eating grin on your shit eating face for the rest of the night before getting like seventy bajillion burritos on the way home.

The fact that I was listening to this without really paying attention and I goose pimpled the Fuck up and then felt a bro-tear form at the far corner of my right eye, I am not shitting you, this song is what I remember being 24 years old felt like. I haven't been slapped in the face and then danced up on like this since catholic school bro. Where the girls were always taller than me, and flipped me around like a sexually satisfyingly dynamic sex doll with just the most adorable eyes. I almost feel weird that a song as simple as "Apollo" can have me so fucking speechless, but you guys don't get it from my perspective, I live for these little feels.

BUT BRO, THEN IT'S LIKE LEMON JELLY.

You remember Lemon Jelly? shit, my 2003 was all about Lemon fucking Jelly and Thievery Corporation.

There's a dainty bloople blorple house shit happening here and I can't really tell if it's mindblowingly comfortable, or I just miss feeling like I used to feel when Lemon Jelly was on the hifi and my pants were off.

Then skip a track, because ew.

Then you realize that the female vocals on this album, from each of the female vocalists, are just fucking on fucking point.

Then you skip a track when it starts to feel like a poor man's "Sexual Healing" or some shit. Then you skip another, because *CHOKING SELF CHARADE MOTION*.

Ok, so I love more than half of this album and absolutely abhor the rest of it, and while the percentage of awesome to EW doesn't necessarily lend itself historically to me fawning over it, holy Fuck that "Apollo" song is one I had to make sure to tell the bros about, if not because I want them to love it too, but because I want them to shut the Fuck up when it comes on and let a muthafucker cry to dance music, OKAY BRO? COME AT ME (with a tissue) BRO.

I think the strength of six tracks on this fourteen track fucker are balls ass enough to warrant you spend some alone time with Down To Earth, but take your shirt off and stare out of an upstairs window huh? Be creepy ya'll. Own that shit.