Fruits of the Forest are two chaps. They have a nice name which might, you think, summon up images of happy, forest-dwelling fruitiness. Two chaps skipping through the bluebells perhaps, singing nice ballads and being slightly gay. That sort of thing.But nothing could be further from the truth. The Fruits in fact live in the churning bowels of London, that stinking, deafening, romping fuck-pig of a city. This dissonance between name and reality is intentional.The Fruits are a pair whose music - whose life philosophy even - is born of a deep love affair with smarmy contrariness. A profound love affair with the revolution is exactly what attracted them to Rupert Murdoch-owned Myspace - the hyperreal, gutted remains of counter-culture. The Fruits like that sort of thing.So please listen to this music and perhaps even enjoy it. The song about the cat is nice. We like that one. And we like the one about the fiancee too. It should be pointed out that neither of these songs are autobiographical or anything. But they are very rebellious.
