Florry

Blossoming out of their spare, but stinging debut from 2021, Big Fall, Philly’s Florry nails the right mix of vulnerable and raucous on their latest album, The Holey Bible. The debut, while featuring a smattering of players circled ‘round Francie Medosch, felt largely solo. Its bare-bones intimacy let the songwriter’s ramshackle country find a footing, but as she prepared for the live stage in 2021, the band that formed around her became the backbone of a new album. That communal spirit is the crux of what makes The Holey Bible so instantly endearing. The band at the heart of the record feels like they’re woven into the world of Holey Bible — relishing the highs and living out the lows with a bruised comfort.

While the band’s easy rapport and studio skills make the record smoke at the edges, above the fray Medosch’s skill as a songwriter and storyteller makes the songs stick to the ribs. Tales of late night debauchery, fragile love, the artist life, risks, rewards, and ruination all rear their head on The Holey Bible and Francie imbues them with her slouched comfort and crooked smile. There’s a feeling of Medosch and the band living in the skin of these songs, waking up with their kinked neck nuances and sending them out into the world to help a few others just get through the day. The world needs a few records like that — not world beaters or towering pop anthems, but friendly shoulders and familiar forms. As the pedal steel simmers slowly and the harmonica tugs its war with Francie’s own bent croon, the works on The Holey Bible tattoo themselves on the inner rungs of the heart. There’s a slightly askew saunter that keeps the listener upright and ramblin’ until tomorrow’s tumult starts us down that path all over again.

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