“Making it” in music has always been a slippery concept, but in 2025, it feels even more absurd. Canned Pineapple’s ‘Big Break’ leans into that contradiction—half self-aware joke, half genuine ambition.

The EP is packed with fuzzed-out hooks, jangly rhythms, and melodies that feel nostalgic without getting trapped in the past. It’s got the reckless energy of a band that thrives on instinct, channeling power-pop, psych, and post-punk into something both familiar and unpredictable.

Produced by Tom Rees, Big Break captures Canned Pineapple at their most uninhibited. The songs swing between scrappy charm and effortless cool, as if the band is riding the edge of chaos but never quite losing control. There’s humor here, but also sincerity…a dream of success that they embrace even as they mock it. Whether ‘Big Break’ is ironic or prophetic, one thing’s clear: Canned Pineapple plays like they mean it.

“Less a subgenre, more a state of mind”

‘Big Break’—is it ironic, aspirational, or a self-fulfilling prophecy? Are you manifesting fame, or just laughing at the whole concept of “making it” in 2025?

I suppose it’s all of those things. After being a band, or an artist even, for a long enough period of time you start to realise that ‘making it’ is a completely personal state to reach; you’re sold this idea of what “making it” means as a young music fan with every poster you put on your wall to every documentary about a band from your parents’ generation who gained “overnight” stardom. In a time where social media is an unfortunately vital part of pursuing music, I think what being a band means in itself is more uncertain than it ever has been. Therefore, although ‘Big Break’ is a prod at those overnight success docs, it is also an honest surrender to our dreams and the posters we all had on our walls. It’s also a joke about playing pool.

<a href="https://cannedpineapple.bandcamp.com/album/big-break-ep">Big Break – EP by Canned Pineapple</a>

Your music has been called everything from “scuzzy power-pop” to “psychedelic doo-wop.” If you had to explain your sound to an alien using only three human emotions, what would they be?

We would look that hunk of green space meat in it’s glossy eyes and say “rubber duck, Euphoria, purple” what the fuck does the alien know?

You’ve toured with LCD Soundsystem and The National—what’s the best and worst thing about sharing space with bands who have, let’s say, made it?

There is a huge difference between playing a festival as a bigger established act and when you’re a young band being given a chance. The best thing is when the staff backstage treat you as if you’re a big band, when It’s assumed you are the “real deal” until you try to go to the real deal artist village and sit in the fancy restaurant and then they ask you where your dressing room is and you all go “uhhhh…. We don’t have one?” They still let you sit in the restaurant with all the real bands though. How very kind.

What’s the wildest, weirdest, or most surreal thing that’s happened to you on tour? Bonus points if it involves a minor existential crisis.

One of the weirdest things about tour, is dealing with other bands. A lot of bands are their own unit not just on stage but socially. I think trying to connect with other people who have a drastically different view on the exact same thing is really weird. It becomes surreal when you do make a completely natural and strong connection just from being in a greenroom with people for a few hours but it’s also weird when you don’t. The day before we played our set at Down The Rabbit Hole, we were watching LCD Soundsystem and (mid dance) bumped into PleasureInc who we instantly harboured a strong connection with. We have since shared plenty of spaces with them and they’ve come over for many sleepovers. We love meeting bands who we click with.

If each member of the band had to be replaced by a fruit or vegetable, what would they be and why?

All we know is that Charlie would be peas and carrots.

Tom Rees produced the EP. Did he push you in ways you didn’t expect, or was it more like he just knew how to bottle the Canned Pineapple magic?

Tom Rees is the greatest producer of all time; he pushed us in many ways we didn’t expect but it all still felt so natural. We can’t wait to spend a longer period of time with him in the studio; we’d love to do one of them cliche residential experiences. He’s shaped us as people and artists in such profound ways.

Your songs have a nostalgic quality, but they don’t feel like pastiche. What’s the secret to making something that nods to the past without getting stuck in it?

We’re strong believers in the now and being inspired by our peers. I think the nods come naturally if you just follow your instinct.

“Run on the ceiling rock tunes”—elaborate. Is this an actual Canned Pineapple subgenre, and how does one achieve such anti-gravitational feats?

Less a subgenre, more a state of mind. I can’t tell how to achieve it; it just happens.

What’s the dumbest or most unexpected thing that’s influenced your music? Like, have you ever written a song after hearing an annoying ringtone or misinterpreting a conversation?

‘Ice Spice’.

You live together as bandmates and brothers—what’s the best and worst thing about that? How do you keep from killing each other?

Killing each other, why would you even bring that up. We’ve never brought that up. Have you heard something? Where did you hear that?

Do you ever worry about getting too good? Like, losing the scrappy, reckless charm in exchange for polished stadium rock precision?

My only worry is losing the ability to write songs, possibly in some kind of freak accident. Although if stadium rock means we might actually be able to afford to record an album then maybe that wouldn’t be the end of the world, or maybe it would be the end of the world.

What’s the end goal? Are you here to take over the world, burn out in a blaze of indie glory, or just play until it stops being fun?

We’re here to take over our world and our new alien friend’s world as well.

Klemen Breznikar

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