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Sometimes all you want from a CD is to lose yourself in it’s shyly tranquil folds or in the case of Los Angeles’ the Flower Machine all that and a healthy sprinkling of kaleidoscopic zest.
There’s a lot to be said about the current tide of bands digging deep into the past, notably the 60’s, for inspiration, by and large most get it right, yet you’d have to scratch around for those records that not only pay a courteous homage so perfectly but into the bargain capture the essence so well you’d swear they’d fell through some hitherto secret time portal.
The Flower Machine’s debut is a prime example. Lazy, gentle, unassuming, its softened melodies almost trickle and tenderly trip with the air of the late 60’s providing a clever mix where the borders that separate English psychedelia and warming West Coast countrified pop are cleverly intertwined to result in what can only be described as a colourful spangle glazed tapestry of afternoons wiled away idly watching fluffy clouds playful chasing each other against the backdrop of deep blue skies.
Reference wise the Flower Machine to me sound like the lysergic personality of the Apples in Stereo being laced and tenderised by the graceful lull of the Clientele (especially on ‘I am the Coelacanth’), among the 11 tracks the ghosts of Barrett’s Floyd, the Beatles and Buffalo Springfield all softly stir while the serene daydream tones of Moviola, the Relict (‘British Rail’) and Robyn Hitchcock nibble away at the underside.
One of ‘Chalk dusts’ great strengths is its relative simplicity in terms of listening, the melodies seem to float and fuse to provide something that overall is neither testing or thought provoking hence its reclining charm. Key moments are many, ‘In the Glow’ recalls the delicately off centre hallucogenic pop haze so becoming of scouse magic mushroom pickers Of Arrowe Hill, gloriously spiked in all manner of lushly teasing 12 string and mellotron washes. Elsewhere those of you so fond of the sensitive quiet pop of Velvet Crush, the Tyde et al would do well to check out the simply majestic ‘It’s so nice’, so frail a song you’d swear it’s be held together by gaffa tape yet magically working an abundance of riches within, likewise ‘How to fly an aeroplane’ ups the tingling feeling but it’s the decidedly slyly curvaceous ‘LA in the rain’ that gets the vote as best cut, so Californian sounding you can get heat stroke and so cool and laid back it comes with a sneer. All we need now is sun, a wonderful debut.
MARK BARTON
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