Marco Machera
One Time, Somewhere

Preface:

I'll drop the mask right away: I had the pleasure of meeting Marco Machera in the summer of 2011 in Big Indian, NY, where we found ourselves sharing what was one of the greatest musical experiences of our lives; so, anyone who sees even a hint of favoritism in this can stop reading here.

You read Marco Machera's resume and your eyes widen; collaborations come as if it were raining, and with names that don't go unnoticed: Adrian Belew, Frank Gambale, Jennifer Batten (M. Jackson's shred guitarist!), Paul Gilbert, Jerry Marotta, and I'm sure I'm forgetting someone.

Then you read the guests on this album, and we're back to square one: Pat Mastelotto, Rob Fetters (The Bears), Mark Kostabi among others.

Wow.

Then you find that besides playing bass in the excellent Mytho, MM has the soul of a songwriter from an era gone by, an artistic sensibility you've been waiting for for many, too many years, a refined taste to say the least.

This One Time, Somewhere first surprises you, then captures you, finally imprisons you.

You have to prepare yourself, and it's not always easy, for a 33-minute journey; find the time, clear your mind of all thoughts, and be ready to be completely enveloped by the music, to savor every atmosphere and every nuance.

There's no headbanging or air guitar here; just sit and listen, then loop it once you get to the end.

And this is to not risk missing a single note of this sonic maelstrom: with each listen, a detail, an arrangement, even a new sensation, surfaces, never banal and less than superb. It took me quite some time and numerous listens to appreciate this work, as during the first ones I wasn't in the right mood.

If I had to explain the genre proposed, I'd be in trouble because the album lives off many different moments, and that's why it's appreciated; however, underpinning it all is a base romanticism that is uncommon, and, I repeat, a taste in the choice of sounds, words, and notes that isn't of our time.

The opening Hello welcomes us with soft tones as if Sigur Ros had taken a Xanax and jammed with Mono: Pat Mastelotto delights us with a heart-stopping electronic drum bridge, and the two-chord chorus (I reiterate, two, but perfect!!) is repeated at the end like a litany for almost half the song, and in the end, you find yourself praying it never ends.

It’s a start worthy of a 10/10, as is the following Story Left Untold, with its beautiful lyrics and a pace halfway between early 2000s King Crimson and late-period Adrian Belew (especially side two, which the song owes much to), but it's with Days Of Summertime that the album's peak is indisputably reached. This song is a MASTERPIECE, and I'm not exaggerating. The melodies, the arrangements, the lyrics, everything is perfect, and Rob Fetters' voice makes this ballad MEMORABLE (and I could go on for pages, but I'd rather it be listened to, which will say more than a thousand words).

As if to say: if this had been composed by a well-known name (or at least well-publicized), it would have sold truckloads of copies. Track by track isn't my forte and certainly not something I adore, but on an album like this, it's at least necessary, given the product's diversity: and to convey it better, I'll only say that after the initial trio where you risk heart acrobatics, you arrive at Bright Lights, Big City which strongly reminds me of the Smashing Pumpkins playing British alternative from our years, then move on to the album's most bewildering song, El Muerto!, which deserves an in-depth description.

I don't know how he thought of it or had the courage to do it, but MM unleashes all his audacity, drawing heavily from Morricone's sounds, transporting us to the old west where, with the help of Smoky Hollow and even Giorgio Comaschi (in a cameo at the end), we find ourselves in the atmospheres of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Once Upon a Time in the West, and, if I may, They Call Me Trinity.

A bona fide western, complete with galloping horses, guns, acoustic guitars, vigorous choirs, and unmistakable vocals. Courage vastly rewarded, I'd say. A delicate ballad for synth and voice lets us catch our breath, and for the remaining 3 songs, the album decidedly changes course; we're on electronic terrains yet equally melodic, where synth and loops take center stage.

Voices emerge suddenly, spoken parts in German and music progressions on instrumental bases lead us to the concluding Troubled Childhood, an instrumental with an oriental flavor that evolves into a noyse peak with prominent bass and filtered voice in the background; we're bid farewell with a minute of toy piano reprising the initial theme, a delicate epitaph for a work that is about to end. We are at the end of the journey, our senses satisfied, and the sensations we've experienced are numerous, never with a negative note.

This Roman kid's debut is a timeless record, full of arrangements and ideas, of beautiful songs and brilliant solutions, of indescribable melodies and a romantic atmosphere that will continue to amaze. It’s a MATURE album, certainly rife with references, but never, and I emphasize never, veering into banality or mediocrity, and when I think it’s a debut, I feel faint.

Artists of this caliber are not born every day, and ignoring him would be like killing homegrown music and giving the soul to the most commercial market. And then, of course, complaining about it.

Track list

1. Hello
2. Stories left untold
3. Days of summertime
4. Bright lights, big city
5. El muerto!
6. Down below
7. Götzendämmerung
8. Hire her
9. Troubled childhood

Marco Machera: vocals, bass, guitars, sampling, loops, backing vocals, drum programming, treatments, sonic landscape, toy piano

Pat Mastelotto: drums and devices
Francesco Zampi: all strings, sound design, sampling, treatments, sound design

Theo and Hugh: speaking voices on “Stories Left Untold”.

Rob Fetters: lead vocals on “Days of Summertime”

Smoky Hollow: vocals on “El Muerto!”

Mark Kostabi: piano on “El Muerto!” and “Troubles Childhood”.

Giorgio Comaschi: voice of wisdom on “El Muerto!”