On first impressions, London vocal trio FLO’s music can seem very familiar. Their sound has always been that of American R&B rooted heavily in the 00s – before EDM throb and then hazy, narcotic atmospheres started to dominate it – with vocal acrobatics and rich harmonies front and centre. And the lyrics very much have the preoccupations of that era: luxury, self-confidence, a lot of sex, and “popping bottles in the club”. On their second album, though, the closer you listen, the more you realise that there are some extremely interesting things going on the lyrics, which drip with abnormally vivid scene setting and some intense ambivalence.
That particularly goes for the hedonism. It seems like half the trax here have intoxication at their centre, and it’s not just “bottles in the freezer,” it’s the panicky idea of love as an overdose – in “I can’t be high around you any more,” and “Small Doses” – it’s asking “why does your heart only open up / when you’re high as fuck?”, it’s crying in bed at midnight then when your girls call you at 1am you’re back out in the club and “kinda close to passing out / My reflection's in the toilet bowl / But if you're offering another round / It’s not yes, but it’s not a no…” It’s a giddy whirl to say the least – the hypersociality of the club is therapy, as in the title, but it’s overwhelming, even dangerous. Sex becomes respite from this (“Sex in Peace” with its plea to “come and rescue me”), but the club in turn is respite from claustrophobic relationships in a never ending cycle.
This bluntness about the subject matter falls into relief when the girls slip out of their very Americanised singing voices and their real accents come out. “Oh my God, I'm fucking sweating” in flat London tones rings out, and adds so much character. In the ode to sisterhood “Don’t Break Her Heart”, suddenly they are pumped up with full-on aggro grime attitude: “If you break her heart / I will break your face / I’ll post up on your block / Send the mandem round your way.” This is where it really gets glorious. It’s a really good album – the writing and storytelling really is dazzling, the tunes are huge, they sing like their lives depend on it, the sound great (if a little on the aggressively virtuosic in playing and production) and there’s nothing wrong with sounding American per se. But these moments when the girls’ real voices leap out hint at something altogether greater and more original if they let the bolshy, no-punches pulled, fighting, puking London attitude be the main attraction.
Listen to "Remedied":
