Fleshwater is an alternative metal/post-hardcore group from Georgetown, Massachusetts. Recently, the group shocked the internet with the release of We’re Not Here To Be Loved, a captivating record that channels the best from the heyday of the genre, but repackaged with a tougher, lush-er sheen.

In a mere 27 minutes, Fleshwater demonstrates their understanding of an old genre, updating it with a painstaking attention to detail and “all killer, no filler.” The tracks go from crushing, to energetic, and constantly change to surprise (and no less, impress!) the listener. “Linda Claire”  demonstrates that masterful control of sound, style and composition — all in a brisk two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. 

With a shrieking pierce, feedback cuts through the air like a jet. Amidst the panic and frenzy ascends a reverb soaked riff. Mud flings off the strings with each strum, displaying a dirtiness that not even Nirvana could match on In Utero. Cymbals crash in the background, seemingly squelched out by the gargantuan guitar, yet delicately arranged in the mix. 

“You’re counting the times you’ve thought I’ve been drowning / 

I bet you’d like if I was failing, but thanks to you I’m just starting.”

The vocals, while not buried, immerse themselves in the instrumental, creating a spacious palette reminiscent of Deftones or the Smashing Pumpkins. They swirl in a free fall around the heavy production, grounding the energy that is otherwise untethered. Each lyric hits you with striking conviction, yet are the least intimidating cog in the machine; they trickle off the instrumental like rainfall, maintaining a kinetic energy as progeny of the storm. 

“How to keep me stay /

Left to run away /

I’m not just one of us /

I’m not.”

The first verse is repeated, before dissolving into an energetic drum build and breakdown. 

“Another night of pain /

Not with promise I made today /

You really are the same.”

Against the pummel of the drums and the electric frenzy of the guitar, chaos is controlled with a single utterance. Marisa Shirar contorts the sonic energy around her, submitting to her will. The passion entrenched in her voice rivals the fingertips of her bandmates. 

“Woah, We Are /

Woah”

In a deep and soulful bellow, the vocals and instrumental separate — fulfilling Shirar’s vocal’s true sense of rapture. 

Don’t mistake this for an entombment of talent — it is the transcendence begat by four members in complete sync. While the name of their album would suggest otherwise, every single cut ensures that Fleshwater is truly here to be loved. Nick Sanchez and I can surely vouch for that.