On Fluppe’s third album, the Schrammel guitars fly towards you as if from a dark red disco cellar – and that’s no coincidence. The Hamburg band joins the canon of bands that emerged in the environment of the very good Hamburg drinking bar “Mutter”. Singer Oscar, a real “mother” barman, is even at the microphone here.
Lyrically and musically, Fluppe have outgrown the shoes and mentality of their old Hamburg colleagues. Instead, they orientate themselves more towards Anglo-American colleagues like the Interpol of the noughties or DIIV – or, to bring it closer again, to bands like Karies or Die Nerve. “Under the stars there is a pavilion / Under the pavilion we stand / When we leave this place / The pavilion no longer stands,” says the opening track “Sam Rockwell”. And as soon as the three minutes are over, you press repeat: go under the pavilion again, stay a little longer.
In general, there is hit after hit here – something that can unfortunately only be attributed to a few bands from the Hanseatic city. Highly melodic, dark, loud and poppy, without wanting to be pop, this record draws you onto the dance floor littered with cigarette butts and puddles of beer with almost every song – assuming you have one. A record of the night that wants to be heard loud. And should be heard.
