Fleeing New York – 'A OK' (Stuckupmusic) Released 25/10/04

By the final track of Fleeing New York’s debut, A Ok, I’m bouncing round the room. I can’t contain myself. I must write this, I must, I must. I have to tell the world about the fresh, new, exciting, re-invention of rock that this sassy south coast trio have birthed in a thankful, fawning world.

This is essential listening, a must buy. Life affirming. You all have an urgent need, nay, a moral obligation to purchase this 8 track mini-album immediately. Fuck every other over hyped band out there; this is where it’s fucking at! It’s these tunes that will be filling dance floors at alternative nights across the country for the next decade. In 'Surefire', they have a festival filling rock anthem with riffs that would roll back rainclouds and invoke the kind of mosh pit that would cause serious structural damage to any major stadium you care to mention.

Musically it’s Therapy? and RATM at their peak, with the added joy of dual male/female vocals. “I’d give all I own just to remember what the voices sung.” Thankfully I don’t have to as nearly every word is etched in my head. The dual vocals are at the very zenith of their powers and poignancy on the pop genius of Hollywood Bowl, with its New York stomp and shout anthemic intro. The sheer newness of it is shocking and stunning, a blitzkrieg of conquered genres and stolen vibes. The reinvention, the originality, the quality of musicianship that has made Muse and so many others the champions of the one true music lives and breathes in this album.

I yearn to hear the stampeding guitars restrained by sultry vocals on 4th track 'Scandinavia Live', and loose this energy that is driving this typo fuelled review towards the doom of a geyser powered gush. This album is exhausting just to listen to, so much energy, enthusiasm and raw power is packed into it.

I’ve had to turn it off. There is no way anyone can listen to that and attempt to give objective criticism or try to describe the sound. Actually I’m not sure anyone could do either. Soundwise it’s like, fuck I don’t know, Alex Kapronos and Mary-Charlotte Cooper being backed by The Distillers with songs written by a collective including Thom Yorke and the Beach Boys? Often jerky and scratchy, before moving to all out thumping, thrashing rawk rock, and back down to barer harmonies and sweet as swede melodies.

Their sound struts all over the shop, dragging you along with it by your collar as you trip up over your own ears to keep up. Opener Monkey is a creepy, staccato threat of a song with perhaps the only expected moment in the whole album (the lines “Monkey see, Monkey do”), while Oh My god is screams into dark life, before turning into a sweet, stupendous, pacy pop number with thrash metal chords and a soft, heartfelt chorus: “damn you, damn you.” Hollywood Bowl is apple pie American pop overhauled by The Ramones, and on the runaway rockabilly of A Ok the guitars sound like a distorted string section. Sun is low is so familiar it’s impossible to get a grip on, while blind fever demonstrates that if these guys ever did decide to slow down, chill out, listen to some Buckley, and pick up a slide guitar they’d be ruling the blues world quicker than you could say “another Clapton guitar up for auction.” Then, on Surefire, they demonstrate why they mostly don’t.

I cannot stress this enough: do not listen to this album while driving. Buy it, put it on, and pad the walls.