What is this? 1988? 1975? 1968?
Setting out your stall with an elongated nine-minute groove counts as a pretty brave move these days – especially one as incendiary, thrilling and locked-on repetitive as "First Wave Intact", the first track on Secret Machines' nearly great new album, "Now Here Is Nowhere". Since the days of AR Kane, Loop, and Spacemen 3, few (maybe God Machine?) have dragged so little out for so long.
Certainly, the Machine make maximum use of their resources. Propelled by Josh Garza's powerhouse drumming, brothers Brandon and Benjamin Curtis build precise and organic layers from plain old guitar and keyboards. This is surgically effective music – almost militarily-disciplined – where the heart never quite rules the head.
The military metaphor is particularly appropriate on that first track, as Brandon commands, "First wave down," and signals what sounds like a particularly bloody battle – guitars explode in a volley of missiles while My Bloody Valentine's "To Here Know's When" plays quietly in the background. It's stunning, muscular stuff.
The mechanical heartbeat continues through to "Sad And Lonely" which, despite the title, is actually a euphoric Hawkwind boogie matched by a killer chorus. Again, Garza's discipline creates a vacuum for the brothers to stretch out. Then, proving they can do delicate too, they segue into the mostly acoustic "The Leaves Are Gone" which is melodramatic, very Spiritualised and very beautiful. Ladies and gentlemen, we're floating in space.
For the album's highpoint, and future single, "Nowhere Again", Gazra switches to Krautrock mode as melody and dissonance crash and overlap in a race to the line. After every lull the beat kicks in again and Brandon is lost in the same sense of wonder as Wayne Coyne when he has blood spilling down his chin and a glove puppet on his hand.
And just when you can't believe how great this all is, and it sounds like they can't believe how great this is, then it all goes a bit, well, flat. Not terribly so, but it's like their collective eye goes off the ball and the spell is broken. What was taut and tight suddenly goes flabby. Consequently, "The Road Leads Where It's Led" is, literally, aimless while "Pharaoh's Daughter" borders on proggy excess.
Thrown off balance it takes the closing "Now Here Is Nowhere" for the Machines' previous composure to return. Blasting off from pretty harmonies it's the aural equivalent of Han Solo hitting the switch to light speed. Even at seven minutes in, with the sound waves crashing over for the nth time, you want it to go on forever.
So, as a template for greater things, this is half a great album – as challenging and glorious as rock can go when filtered to it's basic elements, but not without a whiff of indulgence. If they can only keep a foot to the floor then greatness surely beckons.
