Between nine albums and almost twenty years, Pile should by all rights be exhausted. They should be touring on reputation alone, trotting out “the hits” (if a band like Pile can even have hits) while pretending they’re still hungry. But nope! Instead, the band is still chewing glass and spitting out records that sound like no one else. It’s more stubborn survival than endurance, and it’s what makes Sunshine and Balance Beams so cathartic.
It’s wild to remember that this whole thing started as Rick Maguire’s side-hustle in 2007. He was just a guy writing jagged little sketches that somehow morphed into a band people whisper about with cultish glow. With Magic Isn’t Easy in 2010, the solo project became an actual living beast, and by You’re Better Than This (which is somehow already ten years old), Pile was iconic. Their secret? They deserved it.
Most bands fall apart when forced to balance consistency and experimentation. Pile somehow lived on that tightrope and thrived.
Sure, their previous record, All Fiction, was a curveball. The guitars were draped in shadows, drifting under a weird fog of unease, like Maguire was pushing against his own reputation. Sunshine and Balance Beams doesn’t let up, and it features the core trio (Maguire, Alex Molini, Kris Kuss), plus the welcome resurrection of Matt Connery on guitar. Connery’s been gone since A Hairshirt of Purpose, but with his return, the edges are sharper, and the chaos feels more lived-in.
The opener, “Balance Beams,” eases in with keyboard squiggles and a drone that lingers just long enough to mess with you before “An Opening” rips the curtain down. That’s the thing about Pile: they don’t so much start a record as yank you into its stomach. By the time the guitars snarl and twist into focus, you’re already locked in.
This album is tense. Just like the cover art of a monochrome forest, it sets you up for gloom.
However, the music is restless, shifting, and alive. “Deep Clay” overflows with nervous jolts and jagged corners until a guitar line comes in and burns everything down. It’s the kind of Pile moment that makes you involuntarily sneer in approval, like “Oh yeah, they’ve still got that in them!”
The brilliance is in the instability. “A Loosened Knot” stumbles forward on Molini’s incredible bass line, while the guitars threaten to topple it at every turn. It feels like the song might fall apart, but it just keeps mutating. Later, “Bouncing in Blue” brings in strings, which sounds like overkill on paper, but somehow works amidst the swirling fury.
Sunshine and Balance Beams sounds like watching a tightrope walker throw away the balancing pole and sprint blindfolded.
Lyrically, Maguire digs into the marrow of futility. These songs discuss the importance of labor, purpose, and trying to find meaning when the whole structure of existence feels rigged against you. Despite the somewhat cheery title, this record actively claws toward those concepts, even as you get scraped raw along the way. It’s heavy without wallowing. It’s depressing in that strangely energizing way, like when a band manages to describe exactly the weight you’ve been carrying, and suddenly you don’t feel so alone under it.
Most bands this far into their career either fossilize or burn out. Pile? They’re still shapeshifting, still terrifying, still essential. Sunshine and Balance Beams isn’t just proof of life – it’s proof they’re not done making your stomach drop, not done shaking the ground you thought was stable. It’s dark, knotted, and cathartic. It’s Pile. And if you’re not anticipating the next one already, you’re missing the point.
Sunshine and Balance Beams is available now from Sooper Records and on Bandcamp.