Flasyd keep it rock hard on thrashy 'Always Fast, Hardly Accurate'
Notorious bad girls Flasyd have a reputation for their tough-as-nails demeanor and hard-partying habits channeled directly from the hedonistic heyday of the Sunset Strip, gleefully brandishing feminine bravado like a Louisville slugger studded with a jagged array of rusty nails and wrapped in a halo of menacing razor wire. The band makes their presence felt with Always Fast, Hardly Accurate, a rampaging bull of an album packing a ravenous appetite for destruction into a skin tight 27-minute thrill ride that’s hellbent for liquor but keenly aware of the desperate messiness existing between the peaks of a perpetual rager.
Flasyd comes out swinging with a perilous furiousness that eschews the precision pugilism of a trained fighter in favor of chemically altered haymakers hurled with weighty impunity at an ambiguous but omnipotent antagonist. Sex and violence collide headlong into an overarching ethos that takes aim at toxic masculinity, institutional inequality, and the pitfalls of after-hours romance under the searing glow of flickering dive bar neons. Basslines roll and pitch with a lumbering density, whipped into a razorblade frenzy of scuzzed-out thrash guitar and sweat saturated gutter punk. Percussion bangs harder than a midweek hangover and barking vocals froth and scrape with rabid intensity punctuated by deteriorated post-apocalypse horror show electronics.
Rising to the occasion and keeping it rock hard long after the competition has gone limp is no easy task, one that Flasyd manages with herculean aplomb. This is the sound of souls caught in a mosh, stripped bare and burning with a lust for life lived outside the limits and a refusal to accept anything less than pure, uncut authenticity.
Stream Always Fast, Hardly Accurtate on Spotify and follow Flasyd on Instagram.