Florry is pretty much uncharacterizable. Imagine the Dead Milkmen (or maybe Jad Fair?) playing Uncle Tupelo. Loudly. And softly. The first two Uncle Tupelo albums, if you please (the ones that sounded like the Replacements playing Lyle Lovett). Or something like that.

Florry Sounds Like . . . (Dear Life)

Francie Medosch has some off-kilter, fuzzy vocals that kinda help spin the trip further along. There isn't one overarching style, but just a commitment to ensuring just enough chaos remains to make the music memorable.

So, yes, a little Brian Jones Massacre as well, and plenty of folks have thrown in the DBTs and Jayhawks as well. All well and good, but Florry's insistence on everything not-quite fitting together puts this music on a different plane. None of these songs work perfectly, but that imperfection is their calling card.

And I just repeated myself. One thing that ties all of these artists together is that they sound stellar when blasted at 11. Even the quiet moments hit harder when splitting the woofers on your Sparkomatic 6x9s. Mainly, though, I'd advise not thinking. Just let these spectacular bits of wonder infect your soul. Makes real life that much easier to take. And we all need a bit of help there these days.

Jon Worley