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The humble pineapple, the most outspoken of fruits, has, by dint of a single mention in a single lyric, become a symbol of camaraderie and solidarity for fans of Oxford indie rockers Glass Animals, whose debut album I favourably appraised last September. I regret that I could not find room for the luxuriously, lovingly detailed Zaba in the ten slots to which I limited myself in last year’s end-of-year retrospective.
But what if that spicy-sweet prickle were smoothed and sweetened into a delicious piña colada?
I think it would taste a lot like Paracosm.
This album is a tropical paradise, pristine and pure, too perfect to be real. Your eyes ache from the supersaturation. The lucid blues and whites are too bright. There is no horizon. The sky has melted into the sea. Or has the sea seeped into the sky? You don’t really mind either way.
Luscious, gooey synths are layered generously, unctuous and creamy, atop biscotti-crisp percussion. A haze of vocals undulates by, sun-dappled, rum-dark.
‘Falling Back’ sparkles with unmelting ice cubes; ‘All I Know’ is embellished with a lick of maraschino glissando; ‘Weightless’ has a big old bendy straw sticking out of it.
Paracosm is a woozy waking dream.
Drink deep.