Fcukers Ö album review – There’s no gentle way into Ö. Fcukers don’t open a door, they flick the lights on and drop you straight into the middle of it. The debut album from Shanny Wise and Jackson Walker Lewis arrives not as a statement of intent but as something already in motion, a continuation of a sound they’ve been stress-testing in clubs, basements and festival stages for the past three years.
Beatback sets the tone in a deceptive way. It feels low-key at first, Wise’s vocals floating over a slower, more controlled rhythm, but it’s less an introduction than a coiled spring. By the time L.U.C.K.Y lands, the album snaps into focus. The tempo lifts, the edges sharpen, and the duo’s fixation on 90s house begins to pulse through the record with clarity.
Produced by Kenny Beats, (who produced Geese’s new album,) Ö is engineered for movement. Every track feels calibrated, tightened, tuned for maximum physical response. It doesn’t drift. It accelerates. At just 28 minutes, the album moves like a machine built for speed, each track slipping into the next with barely a breath in between.
Butterflies leans into UK garage textures but carries a fluorescent trace of Dee-Lite, a reminder that Fcukers aren’t just referencing scenes, they’re collaging them. Say You Want To Party arrives as an instant earworm, Wise’s deadpan delivery riding a beat that refuses to sit still. It’s music that dares you not to move, and quietly wins every time.
There’s a sense throughout that the band are part of something cyclical. The return of indie sleaze, the re-emergence of New York as a cultural pressure point, the same city that once birthed LCD Soundsystem and The Strokes now feeding a new wave. Fcukers sit comfortably in that lineage, not as imitators but as participants in a loop where everything old mutates into something urgent again.
I Like It Like That pushes further into pop territory without losing the edge, while TTYGF, featuring Montreal rapper Skiifall, folds reggae elements into the mix with surprising ease. It shouldn’t quite work on paper, but within the logic of Ö, it lands naturally, another shift in tempo rather than a detour.
Lonely snaps the album back into high gear, its upbeat tempo cutting cleanly through the haze left behind, before Feel The Real closes things out in a wash of trip-hop cool. It’s a comedown of sorts, but not a collapse. More like the final stretch after a relentless sprint.
What defines Ö is its refusal to linger. It doesn’t overstay, doesn’t pad itself out, doesn’t explain (at 28 minutes it can’t.) It moves, constantly, like the nights it’s built to soundtrack. The record captures that specific state where time folds in on itself, where hours disappear into rhythm and repetition.
Fcukers aren’t introducing themselves here. They’re arriving fully formed, already mid-stride, already pulling away.
