There is an intimacy inherent in Flecks’ understated, atmospheric songs – enveloping sonic warmth that’s an invitation to lean closer; to listen beyond the quintet’s instrumental weave and hear what whispered reflections await to be deciphered.
The members have converged from various musical outfits and endeavours, uniting with an ease that manipulates the auditory sense; slowly coating the listener in an aural glaze like the honey that seems to glisten on Freya Monks’ vocals. Soft, insistent percussion pushes and pulls the band along – both a quickened heartbeat and a measured pulse behind the tonal undercurrents and lyrical disclosures.
Their debut EP, Girl, is awash with dichotomies – the shining, pulsating slivers of synth pop that sit alongside and permeate the fuzzier swathes of dark electro; the trip-hop comedowns and euphoric catharses; opaque remembrances and frank admissions, introspective yet laid bare for scrutiny. It’s almost a feeling of confliction – the desire in the listener both to dance, and to just sit back and let it all wash over; to be buoyed along on the band’s groove while Monks’ is in the midst of a crisis: “I do not recognise myself/I want to change/But I’m afraid to lose/What once was mine.” Just go with it. Justin McDaid
