Fruit Flesh: Chipped

As a species, we like our music split into two distinct camps: Radio-Friendly Pop and Everything Else.

Proving that the link between Pop Song and Bizarro Experimental Deconstructive Soundscape isn’t as tenuous as you think is, therefore, a tough task.

Yet Fruit Flesh, a kaleidoscopically-charged band from Tallahassee in Florida, USA, have aimed to do just that, whether it kills them (unlikely) or not (probable outcome).

Their songs sound like collaborations with themselves – two halves not quite fitting together as you’d expect, or be comfortable with – yet still sounding curious and alluring.


Cater Gator is licked with vocals that share the same flimsy, earnest charm as those of Alexis Taylor from Hot Chip.

Except Hot Chip wouldn’t be as daring as to let a song teeter near the brink of collapse at the half-way point, only to whip it back into shape for a sullen, film-noir finish.

You may not be whistling Cater Gator’s chorus in the queue at the newsagent’s at lunchtime, but you’ll listen to the song twice in a row. And that’s something, indeed.


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