Sophia
Technology Won't Save Us

It seems that the perfectionist Proper-Sheppard can no longer find the lost perfection, or at least is in a particularly difficult crossing.

It's been 17 years since that January 21, 1991, when an American group recently relocated to the United Kingdom performed for the first time. That trio, better known as The God Machine, immediately hit a target with astonishing skill and talent: not innovation, nor avant-garde in the usual sense of the term: the God Machine would redesign the features of classicism, marking a point of no return in the history of Rock. "Our music can give you the worst nightmares, or launch you into the most fascinating ecstasy. Usually, it's the latter option. We notice that our audience stops dancing: everyone remains standing, mouth open, in ecstasy". It's the famous phrase of Roger Waters from Pink Floyd; adaptable to listening to those songs, art-noise-metal with industrial inflections and symphonic or acoustic interludes, where the voice blended as one with the instruments, leading the listener to another place. Influences are untraceable, though surely they exist. Sophia, after scoring a masterpiece with their debut like "Fixed Water," have never reached that intensity and lyricism again: too demanding as a point of comparison. It's impossible then to combine eclecticism and classicism for too long, both because it's impossible to forget the unforgettable God Machine, and because Robin Proper-Sheppard's idea of music is probably too tied to that phase of his personal history. The balance, maintained in "The Infinite Circle," has thus been broken, looking for a stylistic dimension expanded over the years 2000. What was felt in "People Are Like Seasons" is confirmed as the group's new course.

"Technology Won't Save Us" finally shifts the thematic center of gravity from Sheppard's intimate domain to that of the external world, taking shape in a disillusioned, melancholic, suffering vision, at times almost apocalyptic yet always profoundly poetic. There are some jewels, but unfortunately, other aspects are improvable. "Where Are You Now" is the classic Sophia style ballad; "Pace," the lead single, retraces the rhythms and mood of "Oh My Love," which, however, is more inspired and brilliant and was released three years ago. Superfluous. In "Lost (She Believed in Angels)," you can hear how Jeff Townsin's drumming is practically identical to Ron Austin's, and Sheppard's singing regains the tone and timbre of the God Machine's vocalist, but despite the rematerialization of sound-vocality, Robin still indulges in self-citations (this time it's the mother in her last moments of life inspiring memories and sadness). Perhaps Robin P.S. is too tormented by a past that neither passes (nor returns) and from which he almost "obsessively" tries to free himself, perhaps that past takes on deceitful forms. That past is neither the mother nor Jimmi Fernandez, not only them, but that past (seems increasingly plausible) is the inspiration and talent that no longer found adequate outlets after that 1993. An inner stature that does not match adequate means or (sonic) containers.

"Big City Rot", nocturnal and sparse, almost whispered, portrays a post-apocalyptic scenario vibrating with the same lyricism as "It's All Over", but almost without melody, as if to say colorless or toneless. "Birds" is softer and suffused with melodic suggestions, another excellent example of the "new sound" of Sophia: clear and soft, enriched by ambient samples (particularly the flowing of the Okkervil River). The relative novelty is the three instrumental episodes: "Twilight at the Hotel Moscow" is another crepuscular, intoxicating, Balkan, and almost post-rock canvas, if it weren't for the inevitable guitar solo that disrupts a delicate harmonic balance, partly spoiling it; "Theme for the May Queens No 3" is a furious punk-core session, more rhythmic and distorted than ever, explicitly reminding that the May Queens (Proper’s parallel project) are the "new God Machine." But it isn't so. Because it's from two episodes, the best on the album, that we can deduce who (or are about to become) the "new God Machine" really are. The first is the title track, a monumental instrumental piece, composed in a narrative style, initially arpeggiated, then symphonic, and finally post-rock. The fact it references is the tragic accident in which a child and the father lost their lives, caught by a winter storm while walking along the coast of Cumbria; although the man had alerted rescue services with his cell phone, they were late to arrive, with the tragic ending alluded to by the title "Technology Won’t Save Us." Impressive evocative power, the delicate and harmonic sounds of the first phase seem to portray the sunny and grassy scenario, the percussions and strings of the second cast threatening clouds and direct the eye to the rising tide, infusing a feeling of unease, then fear, the climax is reached in the third phase, where the wall of electric guitar sound (citing Mogwai) seems to emotionally overwhelm the listener like a wall of water, and fear becomes terror. Epic and tragic, sad and extremely powerful, it leaves you breathless. But you have to wait through the ups and downs of an album still incomplete to find almost at the end the other gem of this collection: "P.1/P.2 (Cherry Trees and Debt Collectors)": the epic sense, that harmonic texture, those high-pitched vocals, that obsessive and hypnotic guitar sound with that alienating, cadenced drumming, now give the distinct feeling of being taken to an elsewhere once again.

Back to 1992, back to the Second Floor.