Flavor

Something in this track is slightly off-center, and that's precisely what makes it work. The guitars have a wiry, slightly trebly twang that places it in classic rock territory without ever becoming nostalgic parody — it's referential but not reverential. The rhythm has a swagger that is more strut than stomp, loose-limbed and confident without being aggressive. Twin Peaks here are operating in the register of pleasure — this is music built around enjoyment of sound for its own sake, each instrument clearly relishing its role. The lead vocal has a slight smirk in it, a warmth that suggests the singer is having a good time and is not entirely hiding it. Harmonies come and go like friends appearing at the edge of the frame. The lyrical content circles around sensory experience and attraction — the kind of song that is about wanting something delicious and knowing you want it without overthinking the wanting. There is a looseness to the production that makes it feel like the take where everyone was fully in the room, present and unguarded. It belongs to the tradition of Chicago bands who took their cues from the Stones and Big Star, who understood that rock and roll should feel physical and pleasurable before it feels anything else. Turn it up in the kitchen. Turn it up in the car. It rewards volume.