| The Young Machines begins with a seductive instrumental, an open invitation to your average unsuspecting loop head. The kind of guy you might find in a coffee shop listening to mp3s of Godspeed, Underworld, or Stereolab with eyes well into the first fifteen pages of The Fountainhead. Let's call him Noah. Noah might have a hard time resisting the wonderland of slick production that the first track promises. Most likely, he'll ease right in, expecting to escape within minutes. And for a moment, when the string arrangement loses that octave, the kid may catch a fleeting glimpse of detachment. In so doing he will have let his guard down, leaving himself vulnerable when forced to confront the reality of what the rest of the album actually delivers. The heart of The Young Machines is in fact a forty minute lyrical showcase of Marc Bianchi's personal issues, which apparently surfaced during a very bad year for the Her Space Holiday mastermind. Take "Sleepy California" an acceptance that deals with the singer's feelings of maternal neglect after avoiding a last minute chance to see his grandmother. Its courtly piano loop gives Marc all the time he needs to set up a detailed description of her condition in the week before she died. "Her lungs are filling up with fluid even as we speak. The doctor said that if she's lucky she'll make it till next week." The listener is attentive and unable to dismiss the relevance of his own experience. A vocal range limited to monotone has presented a slice of the human condition, and there is no escape. We can only brace ourselves for the fated amends and do our best to hold back the tears. "I hope that she's not scared. Lying there alone. Hope she hears her husband's voice telling her she's coming home." - Atomic Life |
2XLP/Out Of Print