“Siri, what is a Florida Man?”
We know the memes, we’ve seen the headlines. Hell, I technically have been a Florida Man for the past year plus. My affinity for gators has certainly increased but don’t plan on seeing my mugshot anytime soon. No promises though, of course. But this isn’t about ill conceived, hair-brain schemes concocted by the lower IQ amongst us. No sir, this is about what could arguably be the album of the fucking year in Plastique; the third full length from the living ball of energy that is Florida Man (see: FLMAN from here on out). As I am wont to do with many of these reviews, I confess my ignorance of FLMAN having not been exposed to them on either of their previous full lengths. Upon cursory listens to those past endeavors, I can absolutely hear the growth and the cocksureness of the quartet (quintet on this recording with two drummers handling several different tracks) on Plastique and the comfort by which they are able to present their artistry.
FLMAN is what happens when you start with a Drug Church but keep playing hardcore punk. FLMAN is what happens when Minnesota’s Hüsker Dü reincarnates as a band from the South. FLMAN is what happens when Turnstile doesn’t go full 311 (because you never go full 311). There is a pleasing griminess to this album interspersed within the catchy hooks and riffs; also of which there are plenty. “Dregs” is prime showcase of a fantastic mid tempo head-nodder that combines gritty verses with one of the more memorable choruses I’ve heard this year; all the while never changing up the tempo yet maintaining interest and attention regardless. And your attention is kept immediately into the following track “SMS” as FLMAN sprays the listener with drum and bass style electronics that tumble into a song rife with hardcore punk ethos through a Jesuseater lens.
Plastique’s stand out track to me is most certainly “Cost of Living”. It’s an uptempo little ditty with some enjoyable dissonant riffs over two step style drumming. It’s a fucking shaker and mover throughout and into the half time bridge as lead singer, Jim O’Connor, screams his throat raw for emphasis. Counterintuitive as it is, let’s talk about album opener “Dot Gov” now. FLMAN starts Plastique off with a hint of what to expect with the experimentation as subtle electronic elements give way to an opening scream and we’re off the races in a post-everything track that would feel just as comfortable in a flannel shirt as it would in camo shorts.
Speaking of Jim, I get such a sense that he is the amalgamation of The Mars Volta’s Cedric Bixler-Zavala, a dash RATM’s Zach de la Rocha, and with the energy and delivery of Bear vs Shark’s Marc Paffi. The dude isn’t just a vocalist, he is a fucking force (my apologies for constantly singling out the singers in these reviews, but I am a frontman myself and therefore I have too much of an ego not to mention them). That being said, all members of FLMAN excel at what they do. Guitarist Andrew Barnes maintains a tone and stylization that would do justice on Relationship of Command and none would be the wiser that it wasn’t Omar Rodriguez-López. Bassist CJ DeLuca fills out the tapestry with the deeper hues to complete the masterpiece. And why have one drummer when you can have two? Both Andy Munz and Jonathan Peace steer the course whether it’s to pick up your feet or to stand and stare at them.
I must confess that FLMAN’s style is generally not one I find myself gravitating towards that often. Yes, there are elements to their musical conflagration I am quite familiar with in my normal listening but Plastique is wholly something outside of my admittedly narrow sphere of consumption. I can say with utter assuredness, however, I am goddamn glad I stumbled upon them. Plastique has made me a believer in FLMAN. And I didn’t even have to get arrested in the process.
- Fav song: “Cost of Living”
FFO: Post everything, South Carolina, hardcore punk, gritty rock, shrimp and grits, hooks
Follow this fucking link to listen and while you’re there, fucking buy something from the band:
Windmills, Spinkicks, Headbangs, Push Pits 
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