It’s like discovering a rogue disco ball hidden in a forgotten record store, except instead of dusty surfaces, it’s polished chrome reflecting pure, unadulterated energy. We know absolutely nothing about Frank, and honestly? I think I prefer it that way. This track drops, a single, not some bloated album-behemoth, and suddenly the walls are sweating. Fun, like a sticky summer afternoon where you forget the world exists for a few delicious moments.

This “99 Fire” concept isn’t subtle; it’s a full-on conflagration, that slow-burn you get from laughing with your best friends while some unexpected, amazing song explodes from someone’s beat-up speakers. Remember the first time you rode a bike without training wheels? Yes, that feels similar. You’re coasting, the wind’s in your face, but the feeling’s more significant than just an outdoor activity. This funk machine Richman cooked up is pure, raw joy—and it’s catchy like a mosquito on a summer night.

There’s a ‘risin’ and risin’ bit repeated throughout, a kind of relentless mantra of escalation, which is exactly what a solid party does, right? A build-up, like when a tiny seed starts growing out of seemingly nothing, slowly unfurling, becoming everything. I wonder if Richman even considers these botanical parallels? He probably wouldn’t give me a straight answer, the cryptic fox.

I thought about early industrial music while listening; the raw, unrefined power, but instead of grinding metal, this is like, well, the opposite. Polished chrome energy. What does any of it mean? Is there some secret societal commentary here, some hidden code embedded in the groove? Maybe it’s not that deep, maybe Frank simply felt something, and created something as honest and electrifying as what we’re experiencing now. It doesn’t matter, not really.

“99 Fire,” then. A flicker in the dark? A fleeting summer, a brief, wonderful heatwave of absolute fun? Either way, it burned bright. And that’s all that counts, truly.

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