I have yet to see Flat Worms live. This seems like a crime to me. They’re a great power trio with darkly humorous lyrics and power you cannot deny. So, Live in Los Angeles (recorded in 2019) will have to do until I can catch them at a somewhat dingy venue that feels like a sweatbox and smells like beer mixed with incense.
“Pearl” starts off the raucous set with Will Ivy‘s guitars sounding like a sped-up hotel fire alarm and his vocals bringing angry post-punk lyrics about keeping up with the Joneses to the crowd. “Motorbike” roars like its namesake and Justin Sullivan‘s chops on the drums turn on a dime at any given moment. The live version of “Into the Iris” slows it down a bit but doesn’t lack in power. It’s almost a sludge rock tune in the first half and then kicks into near-punk fury for the second half. It’s songs like this in which Tim Hellman excels on bass. He can lock down any track at any speed and in seemingly any genre, and he plays like a time bomb is about to off on “Plaster Casts.”
“Condo Colony,” a great takedown of gated communities and HOA madness, absolutely slays on this. It’s impossible to choose which of the three is killing it more. The short-instrumental “Scattered Palms” explodes into the snarky “11816.” The album ends with “Red Hot Sand,” and yes, it’s blistering. Hellman’s bass is frantic, Ivy’s guitar is a race car tearing up a dirt track, and Sullivan’s drums threaten to crack the floor under you.
It’s a great capture of a trio clicking on all fronts and crushing everything around them. If you can’t see them live, this is a worthy alternative.
Recorded in just six days, Flat Worms‘ fourth album, Antarctica, is a loud, wild, angry, and yet hopeful record about where we’re going as a species. Are we heading for a barren wasteland of a future, a world of people who don’t want to come back out after COVID-19 is gone, or a world where people still have hope and work toward building a better tomorrow?
Those are the questions Flat Worms (Tim Hellman – bass, Will Ivy – guitar and vocals, and Justin Sullivan – drums) ask themselves and us, beginning with “The Aughts.” Remember them? The years 2000 – 2009 seem like more than a decade ago, don’t they? We’ve already forgotten the lessons learned during those years, which might explain why Ivy’s guitar sounds like its growling for the entire song and Sullivan sounds like he’s beating his snare drum to death at some points. “The aughts, the teens, the tens, only a means to an end,” Ivy sings.
Hellman’s bass is like facing a blitz of punches from a boxer on “Plaster Casts.” Up next is the dangerous “Market Forces,” which is currently my top single of 2020. It absolutely flattens anything that comes into contact with it. The lyrics skewer self-isolation via our phones and addicting entertainment long before a different kind of self-isolation became necessary. “I’m like a piece of the puzzle that’s lost in the living room. I’m looking for a catapult to escape the situation, but every time I thought I got out, I’m just stepping in quicksand again,” Ivy sings. Good grief, haven’t we all been there?
The title track starts with what almost sounds like hip hop beats from Sullivan, but then Hellman’s prowling panther bass enters the room and Ivy’s guitar flits around like a vampire bat. “Via” builds with a solid chug and then warps into post-punk madness. Ivy’s guitar on “The Mine” plunges into psychedelia while Hellman’s bass is the jagged rocks below and Sullivan’s drums move back and forth between garage rock and near-metal rolls.
“Ripper One” does indeed rip, reminding me of a high-powered engine that’s pushed to its limits. “There’s nothing to lose, nothing to offer,” they sing amid heavy cymbal crashes and power chords. A lot of us are stuck in that mode of being nowadays and we’re unsure of how to break the cycle. We know that moving into a “Condo Colony” (which sounds like an early Public Image Ltd. cut) won’t bring us much relief, if any. A gated community not only keeps people out, it tries to convince you that you shouldn’t leave. Ivy implores us with warnings like, “And as the towers grow, see the traffic swell. A phantom opera glove is behind the controls. It’s a condo colony! A condo colony! Step out.” and “If I could somehow escape outside of the wall, then I look over my shoulder and everywhere I go it just follows me.” Hot damn. He’s not playing.
“Signals” could refer back to those traffic jams controlled by unseen phantoms. It’s a short instrumental before “Wet Concrete,” which has bass that’s as thick as its namesake. The album ends with “Terms of Visitation,” which sounds like something you might run into on the Home Owners Association agreement you signed to moved into that condo colony. It’s a wild, chaotic tune about the delicate dances we do in romantic relationships. “These are the terms of visitation, fit for prisoners, fit for lovers just the same. It’s just the same.”
This is one of the best albums of 2020 so far. Flat Worms are bringing their A-game right now, and in this time of no professional sports we need serious players for serious times.
