by Hugo Reyes (@hvreyes5)
An ape in midlife stasis; A talking bear; People in cocoons. On Magic Isn’t Real, the third album from Pile, surrealist imagery paints real crises﹘ the feeling of monotony and parasitic relationships being just a few. “Was a lifetime stuck on repeat/Ape had shut off long ago” While obtuse lyricism would be a defining characteristic for albums to come, Magic Isn’t Real was a defining moment in Pile’s discography. Up until its release, frontperson Rick Maguire would create the compositions all on his own, imbuing them with his own internal rhythm. Now the songs were given a spirit of collaboration, marking a new era for Pile and Boston’s music scene at large. It would, as a result, start a feedback loop in which each record was in conversation with the next one, never seeking to repeat but only to respond.
In 2010, the cult of Pile was still bubbling outside of the northeast. They had yet to become the critical darling, not yet earning substantial coverage until a few years later. Exploding In Sound was a year away from transitioning from a blog to a record label. Maguire’s previous band, Hel Toro, was starting to wind down. Krill was four years away from making the oft-repeated EP Steve Hears Pile and Bursts Into Tears. Even in this early period, the band was undeniable. The mish mashing of blues and post-hardcore was entrancing, creating music that could be beautiful before shifting to disgustingly brutal.
This duality of Pile, moving seamlessly between quiet and loud, while visible on 2009’s Jerk Routine, would become ever more apparent on Magic Isn’t Real. You can hear it even as early as the demo tracks on the ten-year anniversary reissue. Playing with other people for two years had obviously changed the construction and songwriting of a Pile song, building off of the frenetic energy they bring to every show. “Scissors,” the one track that was scrapped doesn’t begin to materialize until thirty seconds in. There is an interplay and teasing out that is simply hard to recreate by oneself. On the standout song “Pets,” the guitar is light and buoyant, brushing up against the pitter-patter of a snare drum. Not until halfway through does the desperate lyrics of “Ape writes postcards” come through in a coarse scream.
While maybe not being the fan-favorite, Magic Isn’t Real is an essential selection in Pile’s catalog. The reception behind the record would serve as an ignition for Dripping, their debut on Exploding In Sound Records. For many, myself included, Magic Isn’t Real would be the entryway into the world of Pile, balancing the many different versions they would take in future releases. It wasn’t as brooding and dirty as You’re Better Than This. Nor was it as slow-moving and patient as A Hairshirt Of Purpose. Magic Isn’t Real splits the difference, working as an introduction into the most rewarding discography of the last decade.