Some bands are meant for the stage. Though their studio recordings are excellent as is, Philly alt-country outfit Florry are undoubtedly most at home under the lights—and we should all count ourselves lucky for it. The band’s third LP, the sparkly, down-home Sounds Like…, was released just last year, and it begs to be played in front of real people, with all the slip-ups and improvisations and idiosyncrasies that follow. But if you were unlucky enough to miss out on their accompanying tour, don’t worry. Florry’s gifted us the next best thing: an amalgam of intimate performances from New Hampshire, Ohio, and a few early pieces from Leeds and Philly, Smells Like…Florry Live As Hell is as much a celebration of the country-rock genre itself as it is the album in question. Francie Medosch’s drawl, already a force of nature, is buoyed further by her live-performance crackles and whoops; John Murray’s slicing guitar riffs are even more impressive when steeped in the buzziness of an on-stage amp.
When Sounds Like… came out last May, there was little argument that it would be an instant classic—as Paste’s Matt Mitchell succinctly put it: “God bless rock and roll music.” It was a fiery ball of energy, an ode to big band alt-country and a wrangling of the best and brightest of the DIY scene. Replete with pedal steel and harmonica, twinkly fiddles and warbled croons, it was the kind of sound that made you want to make your own life worth singing about. Guided by Alex Farrar’s expert hand, Sounds Like… was near-perfect. How, then, to improve upon an album that already strove to touch the sun?
I raise as my first piece of evidence two live renditions of my favorite single from the album: “Pretty Eyes Lorraine,” a well-worn, electric guitar-led, harmonica-heavy love song in the tradition of the modern troubadour. Ragged and sweet, Medosch’s nasal, Dylan-esque vocals shine as she screeches and crows with the heaviness of flailing love. The song, already off-the-cuff, spills out of its constraints entirely when lent the emotional landscape of a live performance. An acoustic version offered at the record’s end reins those emotions inward without dimming their fire. Plaintive and ecstatic, burning and soft, the pared-back tune takes on a new sense of pathos when stripped of its rip-roaring momentum. The album features another dual interpretation in “Take My Heart”: one version a roiling, bluesy electric; the other a stripped-down acoustic, all harmonica and head-voice. Florry’s eclectic range feels inarguable; it’s a showcase of their ability to flip seamlessly between the raucous and the intimate, and, at their best moments, to squish the two together into something new and unique.
“Dip Myself In Like an Ice Cream Cone,” track two on the live album, is a sugary-sweet tune bolstered by Medosch’s effortless, lilting twang and Murray’s searing guitar. Its joyous, loose progression is that of a band becoming itself. “I was hoping to use this song to talk about / Something that had been going on but I could not get it out,” Medosch croons as pedal steel and drums blossom behind her. It’s a lovely, self-possessed tune—an encapsulation of ease and the joy of performance. That clear love of craft shines through each of the album’s fourteen tracks (the last of which, in true DIY fashion, is only available on cassette). Other highlights include: two NRBQ covers and a potent, stripped-back performance of “Drunk and High.”
Smells Like…’s reaches a zenith during “First it was a movie, then it was a book,” an Odyssean journey that shrieks through almost eight minutes of heat and shows off the band’s technical prowess. Sliding guitars, silky-smooth hammer-ons, and easy, expert enunciation all make for a live performance so messily perfect it feels near-miraculous. The boiling, buzzing song rolls through hills and valleys, giving space to each band member’s unique skills. It’s so replete with sound, so full and alive, that it’s hard to imagine the walls of the venue weren’t vibrating with sheer energy. It crescendoes and explodes and spirals into itself like a black hole, a star collapsing. It makes you want to be a middle-aged guy with a long, scruffy mustache. It makes you want to learn two-step. It makes you want to buy a truck.
Florry is a heart bursting at the seams, a late summer afternoon where the sun never sets, a weird Tuesday at a shitty dive bar. The group has a singular ability to convey a feeling of youthful expanse, especially when stripped of their post-production bells and whistles. That the tape is only available (for now) on Bandcamp only adds to its homespun ethos. Florry boasts generational talent, with or without the accoutrements of the modern musical landscape. They’re this decade’s Crazy Horse—Shakey harmonicas, slippery chords, Econoline van, and all. On Smells Like… Florry Live as Hell, they make that impossible to forget. [Dear Life Records]
Miranda Wollen is a staff writer at Paste and is based in New York City. Follow her @mirandakwollen or email her.
