When I walked into the recent Low gig in Melbourne, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they would be supported by locals Machine Translations. J. Walker and his revolving line-up of bandmates were a live favourite of mine only a few years ago, but I’d managed to forget all about them in the rush of new discoveries.
When trying to explain their sound to my brother, I was lost for words—something of an embarrassment for a music writer—and ended up falling back on crude statements like “they’re a little bit pop and a little bit country and they get noisy sometimes.” Hardly eloquent or even particularly helpful.
Luckily for Matt, the music spoke for itself and at the end of the set we gave each other that appreciative nod that hipsters give each other when they know they’re sharing something that few people will ever know.
Mr. Walker has released six albums in the last decade, most of them home-recorded with friends. The last two in particular have been well-received by critics and music fans. Still, he’d be able to walk down the street without being mobbed by obsessive fans. It’s not really surprising—Machine Translations’ gift has always been a knack for taking simple, catchy songs and warping them with idiosyncrasies that result in music hardly recognizable as pop.
Take for example the glitched-up title track from 2002’s Happy LP. Sounding strangely similar to something by Dntel, Walker’s concoction from the sampled voices of three women is hypnotic, unsettling, and altogether extraordinary. It doesn’t even conform to the now-familiar clichés of lap-pop, as Walker and band lay a foundation of delicate indie rock for the broken melody to rest on.
In a similar vein, “No Hip” takes a computerized female voice uttering apparently nonsensical phrases and manipulates it into a memorable pop song. The lighter-than-air electronic groove manages to sound almost mournful—imbuing the vocals with a sadness than belies the line “And I’m glad where I am.”
Their live sound is better summarised by “She Wears a Mask,” a near-hit for the band at the time. The song jangles along its merry way and coupled with Walker’s dry, wry vocal observations the overall effect is similar to fellow Melburnians The Lucksmiths. There are few songs I find as insidiously memorable.
It’s been a few years since the last Machine Translations album (2004’s Venus Traps Fly) and I can only hope that their recent live shows are warming the public up for another release. Indie pop this consistently engaging and edgy is a blessing.
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