B-Side Guys

Hope as rebellion might sound cliché until you hear Birmingham duo PHWOAR articulate it through a tightly-coiled sixteen minutes of barbed guitar hooks and thundering drum patterns. On “Flowers Through the Concrete,” Helena (drums) and Paul (guitar) construct an architectural marvel of an EP, one where every brick of frustration supports a roof of resilience. The duo’s self-described “fizzy alternative indie rock” proves fizzy indeed—not in any lightweight sense, but in its constant molecular state of agitation, bubbles forming and bursting with kinetic precision.

“Reckless” opens the collection by addressing digital-age alienation with unexpected nuance. Rather than lazily demonizing technology, the track examines the peculiar stasis of recognizing our own online complicity without finding escape routes. When PHWOAR asks “how do you get sober when it afflicts everyone?” they transform personal disillusionment into sociological insight. Musically, the duo creates maximalist impact from minimalist components, Paul’s fuzzed guitar oscillating between propulsive riffing and harmonic foundation while Helena’s drumming provides both rhythmic engine and melodic counterpoint.

“Surge” represents the EP’s most direct political statement, examining power structures through imagery of dwindling resources. The track’s pulse-quickening tempo evokes both urgency and acceleration, suggesting systems approaching breaking points. What saves the song from polemical heaviness is its structural ingenuity—the repeated stutter vocal effect on “s-s-s-surge” serves triple duty as hook, sonic disruption, and metaphorical representation of systems misfiring. The production decision to place the drums high in the mix creates visceral impact, each snare hit landing like an accusation.

The EP’s emotional center arrives with “Waiting for the Sun,” where the duo temporarily downshifts aggression without sacrificing tension. The track’s patient build showcases PHWOAR’s dynamic control, creating space that makes subsequent releases more impactful. The interplay between Helena and Paul’s voices achieves its most effective integration here, her higher register complementing his lower tones to create composite melodies neither could achieve alone. The chorus mantra “I’m waiting for the sun” serves as perfect midpoint for the EP’s journey from frustration toward possibility.

Title track “Flowers Through the Concrete” delivers on the EP’s central metaphor with unexpected musical choices. Rather than crafting an obvious anthem, PHWOAR employs shifting time signatures and unconventional phrase lengths that require listeners to adjust their footing—a subtle musical echo of the adaptation necessary to thrive in hostile environments. The production choice to gradually introduce reverb throughout the track creates expanding sonic space that mirrors the lyrical movement from confinement toward openness.

Closer “Tryhard” demonstrates the duo’s gift for wrapping incisive critique in irresistible hooks. The track disassembles performative authenticity with surgical precision, its Die Hard references and “Nakatomi Plaza” namecheck serving as perfectly calibrated cultural touchstones rather than random pop references. When the song eventually turns its critical lens inward with “I’m too old, I’m too weak / I’m too poor, I’m too meek / I am so tryhard,” PHWOAR achieves something rare in contemporary rock—genuine self-examination that neither wallows nor absolves.

Throughout “Flowers Through the Concrete,” producer Adrian Hall (Tori Amos, Nova Twins, Depeche Mode) provides crucial contribution without imposing signature sonics. The production maintains a delicate balance between DIY immediacy and technical precision, with enough analog warmth to avoid sterility while preserving the digital clarity necessary for the compositions’ intricacies to register.

What distinguishes PHWOAR from countless other rock duos is their commitment to substantial content without sacrificing musical immediacy. While they’ve described themselves as “Brummie banter and Northern grit forged anew in the cauldron of life,” this somewhat self-effacing characterization understates their considerable craft. Each of these five tracks functions both independently and as part of a cohesive narrative—sixteen minutes of music that demonstrates how concision can serve substance rather than limiting it.

“Flowers Through the Concrete” ultimately succeeds on its own demanding terms—creating music that acknowledges modern despair without surrendering to it, that critiques without merely complaining, and that finds genuine hope not through forced positivity but through clearheaded resistance. PHWOAR has delivered that increasingly rare creation: a debut that arrives fully formed, with something genuine to say and the technical means to say it compellingly.