When I think about rock trios whose sound exceeds the sum of their parts two groups spring to mind*: Nirvana – who blared their way deeper into the pop culture psyche than their flannel clad counterparts (or really anyone else) and who remain relevant today due to the band’s ability to plug directly into and amplify the mind of Kurt Cobain – and (wait for it) Rush, who left a permanent prog mark on the musical landscape with, by pop standards, complicated time signatures and a drum kit the size of Rhode Island.
I’m not necessarily talking about bands who played better than everyone else, I’m talking about three people who were able to make themselves sound like eight. This doesn’t always mean playing louder but playing bigger, creating sound best measured in cubic meters rather than decibels. With “Now Here is Nowhere” the Secret Machines join the ranks, providing an album that sounds big enough to fill a crater. And by crater I mean an actual crater. Like on the moon.
There is a spare, technical roominess to their sound that conjures near-future sci-fi imagery without relying on bleeps and whirbles to do so. It's like a movie about paramilitary space-hero fugitives toppling corrupt empires while wooing jaded hearts on some distant galactic outpost. I'm not ashamed to tell you I am already looking forward to a sequel.
The cinematic reference, while poorly envisioned on my end, likely comes from the ambitious scope and construct of the album. Tracks build, fall, tease and release like the big-screen adaptation of a real page-turner (about paramilitary space-hero fugitives toppling corrupt empires while wooing jaded hearts on some distant galactic outpost). The action is driven by tense percussion which backs parallel banks of guitar and synth fuzz. The back-story is ably handled by tight vocal harmonies and propellant guitar, allowing the singer to inch forward revealing the story.
Everything is carefully timed and presented to build intrigue without seeming calculated or overly polished, no small feat especially for a debut. For example check out the first track “First Wave Intact,” clocking in at 9:00. No need for the quick fix or ready hook, these Machines build steady confidence and promise big things, allowing the music to build for the first 1:45 before you hear a voice. The rhythm moves forward at a brisk pace, but measured enough to allow the listener to keep up – held in check by pulsing guitars in perfect delay, keeping the whole thing from tumbling away. This barreling first scene is resolved in a dramatic single key change followed by a satisfying barrage of pop thunder, properly setting the stage for the rest of the picture. “Sad and Lonely” immediately ups the ante where swagger is concerned, pushing expectations higher and introducing greater depth to characters before offering listeners some breathing room in “Leaves are Gone.” The action picks back up with “Nowhere Again” and “Road Leads Where It’s Lead,” both full of headphone-shifting keyboard / guitar play and pulse-pushing swells that build to stadium filling dimensions, a concept finally revisited in the title track at the end of the album.
Yes, this was no accident. Secret Machines plotted, tested, rehearsed and refined their rock. And it is worth it. “Now Here Is Nowhere” delivers a well conceived, focused sound meant for extra-loud play and conspicuous windmill air guitar. Like a good movie, each twist and turn is met with satisfying resolution, each low shadowed by a lofty peak – plus there are enough noisy crashes to cover over any plot-gaps you might discover along the way. This is one I come back to often enough to make it tops in my list for this year. Sorry Mr. Ferdinand.
As a note not directly related to the music I would like to compliment the staff at Warner Bros. / Reprise and The Secret Machines website for their handling of my initial online order of the album’s advance issue late last winter. Call me a troglodyte, but my dial-up couldn’t handle the download – twice. Just two pleading emails later I had a pressing of the album in my actual USPS mailbox and a handwritten note from somebody at WB. I was all prepared to battle The Man to get my $10.00 worth of not-yet-released rock and roll, but the big bad record industry folks were accommodating and quick in their support of the band and this fan. Thanks again. If you need me I’ll be shopping for a new soul at Wal-mart.
No comments:
Post a Comment