On their 2022 debut We’re Not Here to Be Loved, Fleshwater carved out a reputation with short, infectious bursts of shoegaze-driven alt-rock. Those songs thrived on immediacy: raw, distorted, and emotionally charged, yet concise enough to leave listeners wanting more. Each track was a quick jolt of energy, capturing intensity without excess. That sense of urgency became the band’s calling card and one of the reasons their debut felt like such a breakthrough.

With their follow-up, 2000 in Search of the Endless Sky, Fleshwater deliberately step away from that lightning-in-a-bottle approach. Instead of brevity, they embrace length; instead of adrenaline, they lean into atmosphere. This is a slower-burning, more expansive record, one where the band stretches their songwriting into bigger frames and experiments with textures that were only hinted at before. The result is an album that feels ambitious and wide-reaching, though not always evenly realized.

What’s immediately clear is the shift in tone. Opener “Drowning Song” begins not with the punch of guitars but with a wash of tambourine shimmer and creeping melodies. Marisa’s voice—still the haunting centerpiece of the band’s sound—hovers between ethereal distance and startling intimacy, layered in ways that recall the debut but aim for something grander. It’s a bold statement of intent, though at times it feels more like an echo of past work than a true reinvention, almost as if it were an interlude left over from their first record.

When Fleshwater allow themselves to lean into heaviness, the results are far more striking. “Green Street” surges forward with grungy riffs and dynamic drumming that summon the spirit of ‘90s alt-rock without descending into pure nostalgia. The bass grooves harder, the production feels bigger, and the songwriting suggests the band is finally breaking past the walls of their established sound. That same momentum carries into “Jetpack,” one of the album’s most immediate highlights. Here, Marisa’s soaring vocals intertwine with Anthony’s contrasting delivery in a push-and-pull dynamic that feels both natural and invigorating. Crisp production and sharp contrasts give the song a vitality that bridges the urgency of the debut with the expanded ambitions of this record.

Elsewhere, the band’s experiments land with mixed results. “Last Escape” toys with indie-tinged guitars, synth flourishes, and complex rhythms before dissolving into a stripped-back vocal-and-bass section. It’s one of the record’s most ambitious arrangements, though its many ideas don’t always cohere. “Be Your Best” and “Silverine” slow the pace to near stillness, foregrounding Marisa’s lyrical introspection against washed-out backdrops. These tracks showcase her vocal presence beautifully, but the instrumentals behind them occasionally blur into the haze, leaving them feeling more like sketches than fully realized statements.

That willingness to take risks does lead to some of the album’s most surprising moments. “Jerome Town” is among the most adventurous cuts, weaving jagged, mathcore-like riffs with bursts of aggression and Anthony’s distorted vocal delivery. Marisa’s sporadic appearances add a flicker of light against the grit, highlighting the interplay between voices as one of Fleshwater’s most compelling tools. On the opposite end of the spectrum, “Sundown” strips things to their barest essentials—just vocals and reverb-heavy guitar before swelling into something larger. It’s a reminder of how powerful the band can be when they let simplicity take the lead.

The record’s most effective moment of urgency arrives with “Raging Storm.” At just a few minutes long, it returns to the raw, emotionally charged energy of the debut, with layered vocals cutting through tight, propulsive drumming. It’s concise, immediate, and proof that Fleshwater still shine brightest when they don’t overcomplicate the formula.

Closing track “Endless Sky” attempts to bring all these threads together. Grungy riffs, polished production, and crystal-clear vocals suggest a climactic finale, yet the song never quite reaches the cathartic peak it seems to aim for. Much like the album as a whole, it’s strong in execution but slightly restrained in impact—a closing statement that gestures toward transcendence without fully achieving it.

If We’re Not Here to Be Loved was about capturing lightning in a bottle, 2000 in Search of the Endless Sky is about letting that lightning spread, crackle, and wander. It’s a more deliberate, expansive work, one that trades immediacy for exploration. For every high point like “Green Street” or “Jetpack,” there are slower, murkier stretches that linger without fully landing. Yet the ambition is undeniable: the band is pushing themselves toward longer structures, richer atmospheres, and bolder vocal interplay.

The record doesn’t always soar as high as it aims, but its willingness to take risks makes it compelling. Fleshwater refuse to stand still. 2000 in Search of the Endless Sky may be uneven, but it’s the sound of a band stretching their limits and searching for something greater. That search alone makes the journey worth following.

Rating: 7.5/10