by: Sun-J
After dropping albums under the names, Home is Where you Hang Yourself, and Manic Expressive, it's not hard to see why Marc Bianchi's records are so dark and melancholy. The San Francisco native, and soft spoken romantic, combines acoustic guitar, parse violin, classical melodies, winds, synthesized keys and furnished drums for a soft-core, techno-pop flavor with a brush of Marilyn Manson. Bianchi's musical approaches are often blatant and clich?d, though his lyrics, obvious as they are, tackle topics from subverted angles for a fresh, dark, quasi-comedic outlook on life. The album opens with the title track, "The Young Machines," the only instrumental on the ten song album. "The Young Machines," is full with chimes, rudimentary beats and prodigious mixing, a perfect precursor to the next cut, "Something to Do with My Hands." Songs such as this track define what I mean when I refer to BIanchi's music as "blatant and clich?d." Recall a song called "Blister in the Sun." On the outside, and after a first listen it's virtually impossible to pick up the songs true topic, yet a couple carefully plotted listens will often yield the debatable topic. Masturbation. Though, Bianchi clearly forwards the listeners to the subject of the song, his lyrical spin-off is as fresh as grocery store produce, "Suck my fingertips until you kill all my points so your boyfriend as not clue how much I've been touching you." The next song "Tech Romance," is a typical love song with lyrics such as "so Carry me around like a picture in your purse." Though, what causes Bianchi's work to standout when it comes to tracks such as this is the way he rhythmically feels out his lyrics. His singing has an underlying, subtle rhythm. His voice almost seems to be a metronome that the music follows. "Sleepy California," is a honest depiction of homesickness which finds Bianchi re-evaluating a strained relationship with his mother in the wake of his grandmother's unfortunate passing. On "Meet the Pressure," Bianchi vents on the criticism he endures from music, "Don't get me wrong I don't mind getting bad reviews, In fact sometimes they're the only ones who try and speak the truth, But there are others who just love to cross that line, Hoping that their viciousness will boost traffic on their site..." The following track, "My Girlfriends Boyfriend," brings out the emo in Marc with its gentle electronica and familiar pop hook, while the closing track, "From South Carolina," are glowing synth key driven riffs over laminiating, inverting beats. As a whole, the album is very formulaic in comparison with his previous works so fans should not be disappointed with this release. The album has many pitfalls, one namely is the song "Japanese Gum," a wasted four minutes about an indie-kid and a prostitute, fortunately for the most part, the said blunders are often combined with off center, eccentric humor. For example, on the song "Meet the Pressure," Bianchi recklessly attempts to unleash a harsh punch line in retaliation to the media, but we find Binachi to come off a tad bit immature, "Yeah, you might think I suck, but your girlfriend wants to f#$% me." It's lines such as these that almost cause me to feel embarrassment for Bianchi, though his use of the 'f bomb' is incomparable, and will leave you floored. "Something to Do with My Hands," boasts similar imagery, "would your body sink into me like your favorite memory, like a line of poetry or a f*&^#&% fit of honesty." In closing, The Young Machines is a skillfully crafted album saturated with minor flaws which in the end should provide amusement.
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