Wild Life EP

by Culture of Life

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released July 29, 2016

all songs written by culture of life.

miranda amey: vocals.
matt ciani: wurlitzer electric piano, bass, guitar, vocals, korg minilogue, korg ms-20.
nico ciani: drums, percussion.
mike fox: guitar, violin.
will myers: guitar.

recorded and mixed by matt ciani and mike fox at the office in evanston, il.
mastered by grzegorz sawa-boryslawski at macca mastering, wrocław, poland.

cover photo and design by nico ciani.



all rights reserved


Culture of Life Chicago, Illinois

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Track Name: Long Weekend 1 / Jorg's Upholstery
on monday, they came to see the space - seemingly very cautious; promising it would cost us very little to shoot. it sounded like the truth. on wednesday, the crew's all in my face. making notes on their laptops. continuity snapshots of my desk, i guess, so they can replicate the mess.

they're not going home. i walked out alone.

they cleared out the ground floor and copied keys. always stopped, looked, and listened. always asked us permission and said please. that put us all at ease. all this (of course) was just for show. the office crew stepped out as they were building the set out. we were good with that somehow as we left them there alone.

in a text friday at noon, lauren sez they'll do fourteen-hour days for half an hour of tape.


you bricked yr phone; woke up alone in a new house, all yr own. hands shaking hard. falling apart. got yrself a metrocard.

that's alright with you; cultivate a sick case of glorified, underemployed life apart from glam. (life so far removed from anyone holding yr hand).

inch farther north; smoke on the porch. cut it loose; slash yr support. december brings depression's sting, like a shroud around everything. stale vegan chips. mineral disks. our salt and butter made you sick.

that's alright with you. you said it was worth the companionship to vomit our food. how can that be true? all we did was drink vice presidents and talk about school.

buzzed with you at lunch. long sleeves hiding yr tattoos. how'd you cover up when yr family came in june? yr so gone; quit yr job the day you lost yr septum piercing.

that's alright with me. i will do my best, day in and day out, to make peace. even when yr gone, i can walk a few miles every day. it doesn't take long.

ambling along, i am gonna miss you every day when your are gone.
Track Name: Caka Sawtooth
(choking under the pressure)

try and hide from what you know is real. draw the curtain; try to strike a deal. one day, yr here and, next, yr gone. say what you will, but the mask stays on.

search long and hard for one thing you forgot. tape record forget-me-nots. i was a face without a name. change all i want. you stay the same.

yr still talking backwards. step in, have a few words. yr not the only one who tells me stories; i can't get enough of yr sawtooth love.

stray paperwork. yr in over yr head. you read my letter, but don't know what it said. you and i both! you know it's true - over my head, the same as you.


things may not go down the way you want em to, but i'll keep watch outside the door for you. no-one else in sight. the sawmill mate at night. i think i just might be right for you.

yr not the only one to tell me secrets; i can't get enough of yr sawtooth love.
Track Name: Excavator Worship
might as well talk to the television. nobody listens to nothing but themselves. (set in their ways; running in place). i know that the same can be said for me; i hate or am afraid of everyone that i see. (beaming with pride; i hope they die).

luxury condos and student housing. miles of debris as they haul the raw shit in. i learned so much watching those trucks. saw them breaking ground - silver shovels reflecting sun in all our eyes. saw the look on the backer's face as they mayor congratulates him like he won the grand prize.

they brushed us off into the street and kept us out with reinforced concrete. disposed of us and our modest needs. this country is free. (and it's freeest for people like these, in spite of their beliefs).

caught flipping through spots in the globe and mail. fraught, fidgety, fucking completely unable to talk.
Track Name: West Barnstable Communal Housing
wander through the empty house, stoned as hell. most nights, this happens. doctor said to try and break the habit of picking up the phone this late, just to know yr all surviving. every time, i miss the sound of typing.

i'll be here another year. the same as always since you disappeared.

kids will still sometimes stop by. i'm surprised you still get visits. it's not quite like our gang of nine, but what is? (what is? what is?). if they need a place to sleep, i've got vacancies to offer. i'll make them all my brand new sons and daughters.

but: when it's getting late, i'm never sure. draw the blinds and barricade the door.

mindless tasks and time zone math. i wade through jailbird as the hours pass. i can't sleep; i can't leave; i can't move without them hearing me.

found a way to fix me up. every sunday, i get better. i'll take a match to every one of yr letters.
Track Name: Longman Lunch Forever
i left soon after things got real. fled, too sick and tired to feel much of anything but jaded and annoyed. getting angry at the void.

tidied up; organized all my stuff. stupidly took it out on you. took it out on me. but i got through by working saturdays. same for you. we know no other way.

we'll be saved if we're good. in a brand-new neighborhood. if it's right, you can tell. heard you weren't feeling well, but it's alright now. got it all figured out.

i left late. killed the lights; locked the door. caught my train - the last one in, headed north.