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Portrait of Pineapple Explode

Pineapple Explode

About Pineapple Explode

Gallatin, TN


By Jack Marshall of Rise over Run Magazin

It's difficult to avoid a bit of a defeatist attitude these days. The environment is in bad shape, our president has squandered our national credibility, the economy stayed home in bed today, Heath Leger is dead from—what else—PRESCRIPTION drugs, and emo is on the pop charts. But in black times it's important to remember that we weren't born blind, and to see all this darkness there must be a bit of light. In the platonic Cave of music, the Nashville folkies Pineapple Explode have got a little candle, and they're holding it high

The listening experience of Pineapple Explode's demo is not unlike being led on a search for the way out. They don't run; they don't need to. The cavernous walls worn by the tides of pop grew brittle and have collapsed long ago. Instead they scramble over piles of crumbled Dylan and wiggle through narrow passages of David Byrne, carefully sifting for clues and illuminating artifacts. The quartet shines their lanterns across the songs to expose influence as well as innovation, following a map of the subterranean that was sketched by hands of the past and defined by their own, often surprising and occasionally lovely conclusions

The escape attempt begins in reverse, a production method pioneered by psychedelic forefathers like Beatles producer George Martin. The effect goes on to become a thematic element. A listener might notice reversed mallets in a few bars of "Kid Burrito", a strangely sweet ditty about children vulnerable to bear attacks. It's this kind of nuance in the voicing of a variety of instruments that proves itself one of the highlights of the work

Wind is heard rushing from a darkened shaft. They stop nearby and listen carefully. With perked ears the howling becomes recognizable; it's Garth Hudson's light-hearted accordion from some deep chamber. There and then Pineapple Explode sets to work with their vamping musette and reverse delay to create "My Aeroplane". It's a lolling, dreamy tune that might evoke fantasies of cruising the Seine on a sunny day with a few hundred micrograms tickling your dopamine receptors

Aware that you're rising steadily towards the surface, Pineapple Explode leads you past a dusty pile of bones; they're Nick Drake's. In their song "Hog" it is evident how important the melancholy Englishman is to the band. Between the quickly-picked minor scales atop the guitar strings and the doleful, paranoid lyrics they display an impressive reverence for the late Drake's work

The band does occasionally decide to take the long route, though. The overuse of reverb in the song "White Rag" pursues a Phil Spector wall of sound that is an overplayed convention in the modern rock scene. And the vocal melodies do smack a bit too much of Thom York—not to the point of distraction, but from such a quality endeavor into the creative realms that Pineapple Explode is, a listener expects a little more

If you're willing to follow them, Pineapple Explode will take you to the mouth of the cave and into what light they've found. There may be no truth, or at least any likely to yield answers. But, more importantly, they have found the party- a good time- where we've always known we could be, out of the dark.



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Portrait of Pineapple Explode
Pineapple Explode