Atlanta rock trio floral print want you to know they’re not interested in writing songs that follow familiar patterns or linear progressions. Even their Bandcamp tags, including “bipolar” and “happy sad,” are direct—if somewhat crass—indications of their intent to present contrasts as compliments. For the most part, floral print’s self-titled second EP—which follows 2017’s full-length debut, mirror stages—satisfies their capriciousness. Frontman Nathan Springer, keyboardist/drummer Paul DeMerritt, and bassist Joshua Pittman swirl post-punk, drone, and math rock into self-described “deconstructionist pop” that grants them the flexibility to shapeshift through a collaborative songwriting process born primarily from jam sessions.
Opener “six pillows” introduces the EP with multiple false starts, repeatedly curling in on itself and revving back up again. Even as a series of tight drum fills takes over, it sounds as though floral print are stumbling over their own feet. But as the song progresses, it begins to invoke the victory of standing up again after each fall. “You’ve been fucking with my head/In a good way,” Springer sings, suggesting floral print might be trying the same trick on you.
A sparse slowcore intro gradually gathers speed on lead single “i go down on the breeze,” before crashing into a single-word chorus of noisy guitars: “Carry!” Springer yells to a partner who’s drifting out of reach, “He won’t need you the way I do.” As the track fluctuates in tempo and time signature, the lyrics are equally disjointed: “I can't stand when you fall/Keep it all on track, let the reel of film recall/Break my hands, yes I do/It's not a lie if I can see right through.” Alone, each line feels like the beginning of a separate thought; strung together, they make even less sense.
Though there are fascinating rhythmic intricacies in floral print’s songwriting, the EP rarely accomplishes the profundity it seems to aim for. “Pardon my ailment/I can’t love you… I wanted to show you all the things that we could be/If you were patient with the cutting parts of me,” Springer sings on closer “viridian,” stifling some of floral print’s most vibrant instrumentals with a self-incriminating admission of undateability. Promising when not obscured by artificial depth, floral print presents the case for an ardent young band in pursuit of something greater than themselves. They’ve yet to clue us in to what that might be; maybe they don’t know, either.
