Sticky Glove

Sticky Glove is the second album by Exploding Pig. It’s a cinematic, retro-tinged journey through grooves and moods — a soundtrack for a film that doesn’t exist (yet).

The album wasn’t made in a big-city studio, but high up in the Austrian Alps, in a quiet house surrounded by mist, mountains, and pine trees.
“We showed up with a few ideas — that was it,” says producer and guitarist Fabio Schurischuster. “Everything else happened there.”

The days began with coffee and cooking — something the group loves almost as much as music — and after breakfast, they’d head upstairs and start playing.
“Sometimes two of us were already jamming while others were still sipping their coffee.” Suddenly there was a vibe, a sound, a song.

The space itself played a vital role in shaping the music: a warm-sounding live room, an upright piano, and the kind of peaceful isolation that lets things grow slowly and naturally. Some songs were built from scratch on-site; others shaped by loose improvisation.

They let the sound of the room guide them.
Samples from old records — dusty loops and fragments — found their way into the songs naturally, shaping the sound without forcing it.
To tune into the same headspace, everyone listened to curated playlists: old-school hip-hop, obscure jazz, strange grooves from unknown artists — all a bit crooked, all a bit magical.

For some members of the band, it was a particularly heavy year. That made the week in the mountains more than just a recording session — it became a retreat. A reset.
Time with people they care about. Time to breathe. No deadlines, no pressure. Just music, good food, and long nights full of sound.

“We left with thirteen tracks,” says Fabio. “Most of them were fully formed. Just a few overdubs were added later.”
The album was finished back in Graz — and finally, the mixes were sent to New York, where they were mastered and transferred to tape to add warmth and grit to the sound.

This glove isn’t just sticky.
This glove is about a feeling.
A groove that stays with you.
Like a memory you didn’t mean to keep.