Plastic Perfection in a Deteriorating World

Launch Control takes a bold detour with “Plastic Fruit,” a hauntingly beautiful deviation from their usual punk-fueled chaos. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t just demand attention, it quietly steals it. Gone are the frenzied riffs and adrenaline-pumped tempos. Instead, we’re pulled into something far more contemplative, raw, spacious, and painfully human.

Opening with a delicate acoustic guitar that feels almost fragile in its simplicity, “Plastic Fruit” gradually folds in layers of electronics like shadows creeping in at dusk. There’s a nervous stillness to it at first, like walking through an abandoned mall, artificial beauty all around, but hollow underneath. And just when you settle into that unsettling calm, the song swells, rising into a thunderous crescendo of distortion, clashing textures, and a chilling spoken-word segment that hits like a monologue from the edge of civilization.

It’s not just a sonic curveball, it’s a full philosophical swing. “Plastic Fruit” aches with purpose, tapping into themes of artificiality, complacency, and existential fatigue. And yet, there’s beauty in its despair, a strange comfort in hearing someone else voice the quiet panic that often simmers beneath the surface of modern life.

This isn’t just a song, it’s a cinematic descent into disillusionment. With “Plastic Fruit,” Launch Control shows they’re not just high-octane rebels, they’re thinkers, too. And the message lands with startling clarity.