Album Review: Flake by The Syncopated Elevators Legacy
Alright, so here’s the deal—Flake is one of those albums that sneaks up on you like a cat in the dark. Released back in 2004 by Belgian label Finesouris, it’s this weird little nugget of experimental electronica that feels less like an album and more like stumbling into someone’s fever dream. And honestly? That’s what makes it stick.
Cédric Stevens, who handles both effects and guitar (yeah, multitasking wizard vibes), crafts sounds that feel alive, like they’re breathing right next to you. It’s not your typical electronic record where everything’s polished to death—it’s raw, unpredictable, and kinda messy in the best way possible.
Now, let me tell ya about two tracks that really stuck with me. First off, there’s “Flake,” the title track. I mean, how could I forget it? The thing starts off all glitchy and twitchy, like a robot trying to learn how to dance but tripping over its own feet. Then BAM—it hits you with these lush, shimmering layers that sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. But wait, just when you think you’ve got it figured out, it flips again, throwing in some distorted guitar bits that feel like they shouldn’t work—but somehow do. It’s disorienting, sure, but also kind of magical, like watching chaos turn into art right before your eyes.
Then there’s another banger—I won’t say which one because half the fun is discovering it yourself—but trust me, it slaps. This one goes full-on noir vibes, with low-end rumbles and eerie textures that make you feel like you’re walking through an abandoned warehouse at midnight. There are moments where it almost feels too intense, like you’re intruding on something private, but then it pulls back just enough to keep you hooked. Honestly, it’s tracks like these that remind you why experimental music can be so damn exciting—it doesn’t follow rules, and neither should we.
So yeah, Flake isn’t for everyone. If you’re looking for pop hooks or radio-friendly beats, you might wanna sit this one out. But if you’re into stuff that challenges your ears and messes with your brain a little, this is worth diving into. Plus, knowing it came from Belgium—a place known for chocolate and beer but clearly hiding some serious musical gems—makes it even cooler.
Oh, and here’s my random thought to leave you with: listening to this album feels like eating wasabi for the first time. It burns, it surprises, and afterward, you’re left wondering if you loved it or hated it—or maybe both. Either way, you’ll remember it.
