“Atomic Heels“
from the album Secret Machines
2008
iTunes
If Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd had a child, and the child decided to make indie music, that child would be the Secret Machines. The stoner rock-cum-indie band returns with their third LP, Secret Machines, and it seems the Machines have become human, as it were.
Upon first listen, the album has a much more immediate feel than its predecessors; The pace and themes are noticeably more rapid than anything else in their catalogue. There’s a sprinting-esque quality in many of the eight tracks here, even within the slower-paced songs.
Much like their previous releases, drummer Josh Garza stomps around in the background of the record, holding the songs together in a rigid, military-like precision. Rarely does he add fills or, really, any kind of flourish to the songs. Instead, he wisely leaves bassist, keyboardist and singer Brandon Curtis, and newcomer guitarist Phil Karnats (replacing the recently departed Benjamin Curtis) the job of moving the songs along in the trippy, acid-tinged soundscape the band has perfected since its inception.
That said, perhaps the biggest difference between Machines and previous efforts is the slightly melancholy nature of the record. Previous outings took on a very claustrophobic character. Here, however, song titles like “Underneath the Concrete” and “The Walls Are Starting to Crack” suggest that despair haunts the album. While that may be true, the songs themselves hint at despair being less like a life sentence and more like an acknowledged reality that can be fixed some day.
This is best illustrated in “Walls,” a somber, slow-burning dirge complete with a bleak portrait of reality: “The walls are starting to crack/ How could they hold back?/ The waves have always broken through.”
Even when the band tries to accept this reality, their perceptions come off dreary and cynical. Opener “Atomic Heels,“ an animated, mile-high rocker, includes the candid gem, “You keep thinking that everything’s gotta be real/ You’re always telling me everything’s oh, so real/ Just lift up your heels.” It’s as if Curtis dares the listener to prove him wrong.
Curtis’s vocals have changed for this record, as well. Whereas on past albums he sounded nervous and anxious, Machines finds him utilizing a quiet, solemn tone from the outset. It’s a gutsy change for sure, but one that pays dividends by adding to the overall ambiance of the record.
Gray as this collection may be, the production is damn near perfect. Each instrument is given its due space within the mix which allows for full appreciation of the compositions. Brandon Mason, engineer for David Bowie and Norah Jones, keeps the band inside respectable limits sonically by ensuring their sound isn’t too acid-washed.
The one drawback of the album is the final track, “The Fire is Waiting.” The song is inexcusably long at 11 minutes, two of which could be lopped at the end and nothing would be lost. It more or less plays out like one of those “seemed like a good idea at the time” songs that, if heard sober, doesn’t really amount to much of anything.
The one weakness aside, Secret Machines is an engaging left turn for the band, one that makes you wonder if the band could use a hug — or just a good cry. But in a good way.