Pins: Wild Nights
Draping their mitochondrial rhythms with singsong melodies and lyric couplets that are so superficial that they’re either sublimely complementary or insulting, they plod away like post-industrial automatons (savants or robots?) as if they didn’t give a shit.
Like a garage Spector girl group, Pins are built to polarise with their ceaselessly workmanlike approach and seemingly contradictory impulses. Does their astonishing ordinariness make them unique, set the apart, or is this just some spectacular in-joke?