Review Summary: Thirteen Years Later - Still Woolly. Still Mammoth.
Imagine for a minute that 'In the Aeroplane Over the Sea' had always remained a strictly cult affair, with say, barely thirty ratings here on Sputnikmusic. Now ask yourself if that would have equated to a true judgement on its inherent quality, or would it have just been the result of a few unhappy alternate twists of fate? I'll save you the trouble of checking just how many ratings this band's debut album received here (the answer is a modest 32, 'Aeroplane' has 4,248) and if that figure doesn't confirm we're dealing with a long forgotten musical obscurity then nothing will. Neutral Milk Hotel (matching goofy nonsensical three word band name and all) seem like the obvious comparison in this instance, as stripped of all the plaudits and fame, you could easily imagine that album having been swerved by the indie mainstream. Sure it has a quirky appeal all its own, and yes there's a crossover catchiness to many of the compositions, but both the lyrics and singing style remain resolutely offbeat. 'Bluffer's Guide to the Flight Deck' has similar unconventional leanings, but equally it possesses the sort of ingredients you'd expect to capture the hearts and imaginations of the indie set. For whatever reasons, somewhere along the line it hit that cult act ceiling and faded into relative obscurity.
What's strange about all this is that the debut was released into what you'd have imagined to be the most agreeable possible environment for it to succeed. 2003 had seen the release of a third Grandaddy album and, somewhat unbelievably, the Flaming Lips were one of the biggest live music draws on the planet; surely there was space for another collective peddling their own unique brand of maximal, near-symphonic dreamscapery? The truth is there probably was an audience out there, only the album wasn't pushed hard enough for whatever reason, and on top of that a damaging one year gap between the European and American releases was hardly going to help matters. The tragedy is that on this remarkable debut release the band had succeeded in delivering a 72 minute near-flawless mix of hazy, light dappled ambience and surrealistic Neutral Milk Hotel-esque dream logic...and sadly no one would ever be the wiser.
Perhaps the lack of acclaim for the debut album had little lasting effect on the members of the band, just so much water off a floatation toy's back, and these elusive Englishmen spent the last thirteen wilderness years working on homemade science projects or watching repeats of Robot Wars with a side order of 'funny' mushrooms within arm's reach. We'll never know, but on the evidence of 'The Machine That Made Us' whatever it was they got up to in the interim in no way dulled their musical instincts; behold, the ice has melted, the shaggy fur has thawed, and the long slumbering woolly beast is risen (again).
What's fascinating here is that the extended hibernation neither froze the band's music in the exact same style as their 2004 incarnation, nor left the band sounding in any out of step with their indie rock peers in 2017. No, this is the very best sort of comeback; this sophomore release feels fresh, boasting a greater emphasis on song writing directness than the debut, but never at the expense of their trademark multi-layered swirling aesthetic. Listening to these tracks can be overwhelming if you attempt to start identifying each and every layer that emerges from the deep; best to switch off all over analytical tendencies and let the sounds wash over you, all the while holding onto the melodic heart resting atop the surface (the flotation toy?). Lead singer Paul Carter adopts the role of travelling companion, one of his most memorable lines on the record stating 'reading kid's encyclopaedias is where I stole all of my best ideas', and often it feels that his role on this album is primarily an unobtrusive one; he turns the pages of the book in your lap then describes the pictures as they're revealed.
All the songs included here play their part, each memorable in their own unique way, each adding to the ornate tapestry. If pushed to pick out highlights the opening five songs are perhaps the strongest run here; the propulsive 'Due to Adverse Weather Conditions...' has the most obvious Neutral Milk Hotel influence and is packed with immediate melodies; 'A Season Underground' sets up its neat and tidy symphonic stall only for it to be beset upon by static electric hums and rippling piano; just when 'Everything That Is Difficult...' seems adrift in its own sleepiness it's suddenly enlivened by robotic stabbing guitar; the delicate 'I Quite Like It When He Sings' has a strong Grandaddy feel, with a sad underlying chord progression and a mournful synthetic instrumental coda. Indeed it could be said there's a melancholy tone throughout the album, though never an overwhelming one.
As excellent as 'The Machine That Made Us' may be, there remain two unavoidable questions that need answering. Firstly, is this follow up quite as strong as the outstanding debut? Secondly, has this release got a greater chance of making any sort of dent in the mainstream indie collective consciousness than its predecessor did? Well, as impressive as this follow up is, it can't boast quite the same level of total immersive dream-state abandon that the original elicited in the listener. The upside, in relation to the second issue of finding an audience, is that this work displays a newfound directness which might, just might, be the catalyst required. It's either that or Flotation Toy Warning keep hold of the 'Greatest Band No One has Heard Of' mantle for yet another hibernation cycle.
