New York rockers Fleming make plaintive and muscular indie rock music. Their lyrics are about things like paramour manservants and depraved popes and south-of-the-border exercises you don't quite understand. And while their expression is cryptic, they attack their revolving vocal parts with wistful sincerity. Starting with driving, Therapy?-style riffs, Fleming strip away the distorted metal excess and amp up the urgency for an insistent, spare and ominous sound based in rock but closer to post-punk. Like Mission of Burma. If they sang about manservants. But just as impassioned, just as unrelenting, and through some emotional sleight of hand, capable of making lines like "That's what you get when you ring my bell," sound like the kind of reprimand you'd want to get if only you could.

Fleming on myspace