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As a result, the EP became a love letter to 90s radio that everyone had an individual affinity for. For Morel, the crackling ethereal waves evoke a sense of freedom, a sign of life beyond mundane suburban existence. She remembers Saturday nights spent hunched over her metal, lavender boombox, tuning in to pop stations that streamed live from Houston’s techno clubs. “It just blew me away, it was a portal to a completely different world,” she gushes. For Durkan, this is instilled with a deep sense of comfort – evokes flashes of his mother’s hand on the wheel as she drove him to band practice, and his friends’ teenage faces lit by the California sun.
These references make their way into the EP along with efforts to chronicle this moment in their lives. It’s an aural lexicon interwoven with almost 200 samples that range from video game sound effects to voice notes and old piano recordings, imbuing the project with a deep sense of intimacy. “milksugar,” for example, begins with a distorted fragment of Morel’s late dog’s breath – a sweet dedication to her companion of 16 years. “I was really happy that we were able to include a bit of him,” she says, gently placing her hand over her heart. Asked if he has any other favourites, however, Morel jokes, “Legally, no,” which is met with laughter and a resounding “Yes, no comment” from Durkan.
Last year, Crushed played their first show to a nearly sold-out crowd – an event that doubled as one of several first in-person meetings the couple had. The overwhelmingly positive response was a surprise, as Bre recalls the simplicity of their original intent: “We were living in this dream world and just having fun making music.”
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