LIVE: Secret Machines Trip The Blinding-White-Light Fantastic
Tuesday May 16, 2006 @ 05:00 PM
By: ChartAttack.com Staff

May 15, 2006
Mod Club
Toronto, ON
by Steve English

The Secret Machines are a band of few words. More than three-quarters of the way through the Toronto stop on their current tour, they'd acknowledged the crowd exactly twice, both times with a muffled "Thank-you." Then again, you don't come to a SM show for the forced hometown shout-outs or cliched between-song banter. The Texas-by-way-of-New-York power trio's ever-growing live rep — featuring cavernous psych-metal drone symphonies and a brain-melting stroboscopic light show — is reason enough to drag yourself out of your parents' smoke-filled rec room to take a peek.

Or maybe not. Monday night's inclement weather, coupled with the fact that the band's just-released Ten Silver Drops has yet to really grab the hipster set by the lapels, no doubt contributed to the gig's underwhelming, half-full turnout. But for the intimate assortment of dapper indie kids, thirtysomething rock dudes and recreational drug enthusiasts who braved the rain, the Machines' 90-minute dose of thunderous, sensory-overload riffer madness was uncut manna from stoner-rock heaven.

Backlit and shrouded in curtains of dry ice, the Machines' live experience is decidedly anti-rock star, falling somewhere between a good Jesus And Mary Chain gig (of which, admittedly, there weren't many) and a discount Pink Floyd stadium extravaganza. Warning: do not stare directly at this band. Opener "Alone, Jealous & Stoned," its ear-splitting guitar chords punctuated by blinding blasts from three high-intensity klieg lights, mirrored the effect of having a phosphorous grenade explode in your face, albeit with more blissful feedback and pretty keyboard flourishes and fewer third-degree burns. Much like the music itself, the light show is deceptively simple and devastatingly intense, alternately washing over you like a warm wave and hurling you straight into the heart of the sun. Dancing is virtually impossible; stunned rhythmic standing is about as close as it gets. Epileptics should stick with the LPs.

The barrage of light and sound is so central to the band's presentation that it even affects their stage setup: shunted off to the left and facing perpendicular to the audience in order to make room for the amps and lighting rig, Josh Garza's drum kit almost looked like an afterthought. As trite as it sounds, you get the impression that the tunes are what really matter here. You've got to respect a band who try this hard to make themselves seem invisible.

Apart from a few protracted guitar wanks and "here's one off of our new album" dead spots, the Machines kept the show moving as briskly as their seven-minute suites would permit. The new material is softer, warmer and more immediately accessible, coming off like a shiny, happy Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. While that's certainly pleasant, the old stuff still packs the biggest wallop. With its keening choral vocals and swooping drones, "Pharaoh's Daughter" flirted with transcendence, while the chugging thermonuclear new wave of "Nowhere Again" cleared the table for the triumphant show-stopping blitzkrieg of "First Wave Intact." If a little rain kept you at home, feel shamed: this supersized psychedelic contact high was totally worth the soaker.