Devereaux’s LP Pineapple Flex gives off the same vibes as French action cinema, whose elements derive from Kung Fu flicks, Hollywood stunts, comedy, and Parisian crime shows. Picture a sonic retelling of La Femme Nikita, or even better, a badass electronic take on the Spice Girls minus the vocals, but with all of the spunky, flirty sexiness.
“Ponytails” begins with bells ringing, like the warning of an incoming locomotive. Then, drops a house beat that double-dutches into a line of a catchy vocals. The lyric “Whip your ponytail” summarizes the album’s party-twerking theme.
To evolve the Spice Girl metaphor even more, “Bikini” would be Baby Spice sucking on a lollipop wearing a tight blue mini-skirt. Funky, dreamy ambiance oozes an island-love groove, but it’s the Phil Collins-inspired percussion that swirls in an 80’s retroness.
Overall, there is a mix of glitchy, ambient, and flat-out fun tracks that seal the deal in terms of an eclectic record. “CoastsaoC” is the crunchiest, creepiest song, while the emotive guitar riffs, twinkling texturizing, and lucid vocals create a groovy soundscape on “Sell the Rose.” “Xenodehuir” is infused with piano, an escalating bouncy house rhythm, trumpets, and chiming guitar that had me feeling funky fresh. “Next to Neon” pulls it all together with a flirty, retro beat that screams Prince influence.
And please ignore the cliche, but it’s the little things that count. The drops Devereaux employs are bricks of gold; At 1:40, “Azúcar” drops with the sound of a trigger being pulled, and at 2:30 “Fashion for Sharks” drops into a grittiness that sounds…exactly like sharks chomping down on your expectations for a drop.
The vocals and lyrics, spritzed like confetti, are also what form Devereaux’s precise sound. While not featured on every song, the vocals that do appear are a pleasant combination of both male and female, with the female vocals often singing French phrases. The easy, deep breathiness of the female vocalist on “Hatchets” has a Lana Del Ray flair, and the snippets of conversation recorded on “Costarricense” highlight the subtle humor Devereaux slips into these tracks.
So the next time I go on a fast motorcycle ride along a winding, mountainous highway or decide to fight neighborhood crime wearing nothing but a bikini and brass knuckles, I’m listening to this. Full of bold energy, Pineapple Flex is an animatedly euphoric, at times violent, assault on epic electronic music. It’s hot-pink-grit good. —Rachel Haney