Welcome, initiate.

If you’re on the threshold of this record, you’re either tragically lost — or dangerously close to the pulse. FLASH ACTION isn’t a record. It isn’t a compilation album. It isn’t a “Greatest Hits.” It’s a detonation capsule, disguised as a chainsaw hit machine. Beneath the sheen each re-recorded “smash” is a sleeper code, buried deep in the harmonics like a numbers station under an ocean’s foam of vinyl hiss.

The Get Quick don’t revisit their past. Even as their fans ritualize it. Each of these tracks are a node in the neural map of a fractured myth, replayed on stolen tape devices from Philadelphia and the Falklands. This is not rock & roll as you remember, this is counter-melody-memory. This is what happens when the Oblivionist theorist shows up to dance.

The guitars? Buzzing with mirror dust.
 The rhythm section? Reconstructed from police surveillance footage and auto-séance fragments.

The vocals? Recorded in psychological death traps on the dark side of the moon.
 The studios? Only exist off grids during full solar inversions.

WHY RERECORD? WHY NOW?

Because the original mixes were contaminated.
 Because the master tapes were compromised.
 Because the world has changed, not only time signature, but key — and TGQ may be our last chance to unlock the tuning.

This is not a reunion.
 This is not a reissue.


This is a reawakening.

You may hear things that shouldn’t be there.
 You may see things you forgot you buried.
 Good.

Playback is permission.


Repeated listens may induce sudden loyalty shifts, emotional flashbacks to false floor decades, stroboscopic glimpses of alternate timeshafts.

By design.

The Get Quick return, not as you recall — but as a recompiled broadcast anomaly, clad in leather and burning through the veil. Welcome to the eternal echo chamber. The bell never stops tolling.

FLASH ACTION


Burn the timeline.


Wear the lightning.


Become the signal.

— Mark Question 2025.