 |
MH-224 Her Space Holiday - The Young Machines  Change... love... death... infidelity... confession... a break up. Marc Bianchi is nearly surgical in his ability to slice delicate songs of love, loss, hope, despair, and optimism out of one very hard year. His striking new release as Her Space Holiday is The Young Machines, an authentic foray into intelligent dream-pop. The production is everything you have come to expect from Her Space Holiday; intricate string arrangements, analog synth patterns, lush guitar-like drones and tasteful drum programming abound, but it is the songwriting that elevates the album to its elite status. Traditional song structures take unexpected turns throughout, highlighting introspection and vulnerability most often missing in electronic music. The Young Machines is a ten-song encapsulation of a year on the edge and Her Space Holiday's most complete and personal release. |
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Reviews Summary |
| Gentle, beautiful and unspeakably sad - New York Times / Rapturous and bittersweet, The Young Machines is a soothing swoon - Entertainment Weekly / Terrific stuff - Q / A beautiful bittersweet record - Under The Radar / Often on a par with the very best of Elliott Smith - Uncut / The finest Her Space Holiday release - Pulse / Bianchi has made the album of his life - Logo |
| Reviews | |
|
| Trading in bleeding heart confessionals is a risky business, but in the hands of Her Space Holiday - that's solitary songwriter Marc Bianchi - it's refreshingly original, whinge-free and slapped around a nice violin loop. The forlorn lyrics, like many of his songs based around isolation and a departed loved one, even manage to sound like nobody has ever used words quite like that before. Similar feelings, you suspect, to those Bianchi felt for his former beau before things turned sour. "I did this myself/it's a sick cry for help" is the self-analysis, and you can't help but feel sympathetic. "Now the writers can say 'we were right all along / You can't make someone love you with a song'" is a defeated observation, but given it's followed with the admission, "It just feels strange that I sing songs for another girl," maybe there are already happier times on the horizon. With such brilliant results from pain, however, pray it all goes wrong again. -Drowned in Sound |
2XLP/Out Of Print