Surfin' Ducks Have All the Answers

Surfin' Ducks album cover by Ether Householder.

What do the ducks know that we don’t? The meaning of life, according to Mallory Graham. Surfin’ Ducks is the debut solo project from the Denver and Fort Collins-based multi-instrumentalist, A.K.A. “genderqueer open-mic rat” Mal Haltam. Classically trained as a percussionist and jazz drummer, Graham picked up ukulele and bass in high school, then added guitar to her repertoire after graduating. The Michigan-raised musician has played in Colorado bands like Fernbrook, Wicked Vixen, Dumpster Head, and Atom Son of Man for the last seven years (she’s currently still the drummer for leaf, please), but besides the three lead singles teasing this EP, she’s only released the White Stripes-esque single “MOP” as a solo artist. “MOP” is a head-banger about not wanting to cut your hair, but you’d have to be pretty dense to think it’s just a song about hair, just like you’d have to be pretty dense to dismiss Surfin’ Ducks as a quirky-cute little project about ducks. (Although it is also a very cute, quirky project about ducks.) 

Graham describes her debut as “heartfelt and rambunctious indie surf” for birds, as well as “landlocked surf rock,” which is for sure my new favorite genre descriptor. (Artists still describing their shit with dry ass conventional genres, PLEASE take note.) She says her music “Fuses surf sound with modern funk scales and indie feel,” pulling from an eclectic roster of influences like The Arctic Monkeys, Jack White, The Beach Boys, Dick Dale, and The Buttertones. While “River Boy” and “Frozen (Outro)” channel the indie feel of other artists she admires, like JW Francis and Mac Demarco, elsewhere I hear stronger post-punk influences like The Cure and Talking Heads. But Surfin’ Ducks stays true to the rough-and-tumble vitality of unadulterated punk, without the synths or electronic tones sometimes associated with the genre’s later waves. The guitar instrumentation on Surfin’ Ducks actually reminds me of British Invasion-era rock acts, especially my favorite punk precursors, The Kinks. Graham draws from the entire lifespan of punk, from its origins in 1960s Brit-Pop and garage rock up through alt-rock and indie bands that rose to prominence during the 2000s post-punk revival, like The Fratellis and Dr. Dog. She’s also got the perfect tone of voice for punk, though she experiments with stretching her vocal range on several songs, like playing with falsetto on “Bufflehead & Mallard” or her lower register on “Pretty Girls, Indie Bois.” 

Graham’s percussion background and training are evident on Surfin’ Ducks, where drumrolls are used like exclamation points from the second Graham summons them at the end of the intro track. Though Graham played almost all the instruments heard on the project (Felix Seifert gives an assist on bass on “Banshee”), there seems to be an extra exuberance to her playing when she’s sat behind the kit.  Spurts of rollicking drums inject a classic punk energy into cheery thrashers and more slow-burning indie instrumentals, but this is “landlocked surf rock” after all, and the tradition of surf music is a key thread in the sonic tapestry of Graham’s EP. With aquatic-sounding, reverb-heavy guitar riffs, multitracked harmonies inspired by the Beach Boys (on “Pretty Girls, Indie Bois”), and lyrics paying tribute to the natural world (even if they’re more about ducks than the ocean) the project aligns with many customs of surf rock. But landlocked surf rock, from what I can tell, has a little more angst, a little more mountain grit, a little more surfpunk swagger than the breezy oceanside optimism of true California surf music. Graham’s take on surf rock incorporates more of the bluesy, folk, and Americana genres that have roots between the coasts, especially in mountain territory. Add in a touch of Midwestern kitsch (you can take the gal out the Midwest, but not the Midwest out the gal) and the DIY aesthetic of punk, and you’ve got the sound of Graham’s landlocked Colorado surf. 

Among her musical influences, Graham includes “The ever breathing earth,” and that might actually be her strongest influence on this EP. Water, and nature as a whole, symbolize freedom for Graham. Through contemplations of identity and transformation, Graham’s lyrics juxtapose the peace and simplicity of the natural world against the artifice of human civilization. Take the following lines from “Mallard,” for example: “Cuz I just wanna be/A duck, carefree/No more, humanity/My ideal reality!” Across the project, Graham envies and admires the titular waterfowl for their lack of (human) consciousness and responsibility, contrasting the ease of their existence with the complications of human relationships to others and the self. This conflict is literalized in the lyric, “But don’t, feed them bread/It’ll go to their head,” which, while humorous, points to the well-meaning yet ultimately harmful actions of humans intruding on an organic ecosystem. It’s a gentle reminder that humans are not, in fact, the main characters on this ancient Earth. 

Perhaps Graham’s witty, observational lyrics ridiculing life’s everyday indignities are what makes this project sound so Kinks-y to me. In a post introducing Surfin’ Ducks, Graham said the project “Aims to lift the spirits of anyone who is losing sight of their own beauty, or has forgotten how it feels to be as free as a duck in flight.” Perched on the periphery of Colorado’s scenic mountainside lakes, Sufin’ Ducks explores the experiences of falling in love with others while learning to appreciate the self and the world around you, presenting them all as parallel processes. Graham’s lyricism posits that the solution to unhealthy or unsatisfying human relationships lies in a return to nature, where the true self is able to flourish fully outside the limits of polite society. 

“Pretty Girls, Indie Bois” is a cheeky internal monologue that starts by delving into the anxieties (especially guilt) accompanying lust, but ascends to a pep talk where the narrator urges the listener to turn that fervor inward, and view the self with the same curious romance as they view others. Pining over “pretty girls” and “indie bois” flows into a lesson in introspection: “Every human-being is pretty/Ignore your eyes, the heart knows what you need/Explore your soul and then you will be free/Because every girl is pretty, and anyone can be indie.” This axiom appears to signal the end of the song, but out of the ensuing silence erupts a whirlwind of drums and Graham’s emphatic wail: “If beauty is in the eye of the beholder/Then hold yourself, man!” Someone please embroider that onto a pillow for me?

In her artist bio, Graham says her lyrics “Speak towards those who have fallen in and out of love, avid nature nerds, and the LGBTQ community,” and that overlapping trifecta is well-represented on Surfin’ Ducks. Though some are coded and some are more overt, there are many unmistakable references to queerness, queer romance, and queer culture on Graham’s debut. Any art that centers transformation and self-acceptance, or debates what is “natural” and what it means to be human, has queer undertones. (In case those hints were too subtle, Graham also proclaims, “Surfin’ ducks are a tad bit queer” within the first few minutes of the project.) “Pretty Girls, Indie Bois,” with the iconic line “I don’t care about a he or she/But just one touch fills me with gorgeous glee,” is destined to become an anthem for anxious bisexuals everywhere. (Is it a coincidence that it’s my favorite song off the project? Probably not!) 

One of the most interesting things Graham does in her lyrics is her unconventional use of pronouns, which, in this ludicrous hellscape we live in, have become politicized as an emblem of queerness (as if they aren’t just units of language). Rhetorical terms like “We,” “She,” and “Me” are elevated to symbolic entities rather than serving their semantic purpose as stand-ins for names. Look at the chorus of “River Boy”: “You hold my key, to what it means/To be we/To be me/And I won’t do/Neither will you.” Here, “We” is used to represent a couple, a relationship, and all it entails, while “Me” encompasses the ethos of self-identity and independence. On “Porcelain,” Graham refers to her unnamed beloved as “My favorite proper noun,” and later on “Banshee” only as “She.” Given that Graham is genderqueer, almost every pronoun-laden statement can be read as a double entendre in regards to her gender and sexuality. In cases of lyrics like “Ever since you, I’ve been blue/But with she, I’m happy” (from “Banshee”) or the repeated “I don’t care about a he or she” on “Pretty Girls, Indie Bois,” Graham could either be referring to herself, as a declaration of her own flexible gender identity, or affirming her sexuality, in which her desire disregards gender. Through shifting, fluid language, these seemingly fixed social concepts become malleable in Graham’s idyllic world, churning and transforming much like water itself. 

I told you, it’s not just about ducks. It’s about being and belonging and evolving and reclaiming the wild parts of the self the human world tries to dim. This is summer surf music for the mountains. Graham has found her niche, and takes to it like a duck to water. 

Surfin' Ducks by Mallory Graham is out now on all music platforms.