Fake Fruit has a way with airing folks out.
This week I’ve been replaying the self-titled debut from the San Francisco (by way of Vancouver and NYC) punk band spearheaded by guitarist and vocalist Hannah D’Amato. It’s a prickly, acerbic record about a breakup with D’Amato firmly at the center, sardonically musing about the red flags before and picking up the pieces after. There are moments here where she calls out the ain’t-shit ex who couldn’t make her cum, expresses annoyance over how she stuck her neck out for ’em, and goes through the slow-mo realizations of how they were no good for her. It’s a stream of heady consciousness, over taut, jangly guitars.
“No Space For Residence” has become a favorite of mine, I can’t get it out of my head! Right from the the intro with those wry guitars and drum hits, “Residence” is addictive, with D’Amato absolutely exuding dissatisfaction as she declares that there’s no space in her head anymore for that person no longer in her life. Hell, even her vocals clash with the tune in such a great manner. And that moment where the song “resumes” after that sedate, mid-song break? Awesome.