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6 AM on Christmas morning.
I have just opened my eyes again; outside the house, the fohn, a warm wind from the north, is blowing. The temperature is currently about 15 degrees. And we are in winter...
Inside me, the frost... I can no longer stand Christmas. For years I had to pretend, with Elisa as a child. But now my Diamond has grown up; and I have plunged back into complete darkness.
I put on the headphones, I don’t want to wake anyone. I start with an online search, and soon I find what I need.
Do you know the story of the God Machine. DeMa has written a couple of reviews on the band, and I don't want to dwell too long... I don't have much time today.
John Peel, the famous English DJ and producer, immediately noticed the band early in their career and their enormous musical potential. He invited them to his show in April 1992.
28 minutes of passion, 28 minutes of warmth, 28 minutes radiating fire and power. Accompanied by the usual releases, the habitual slowdowns so dear to those who know the God Machine deeply.
A very brief introduction by John to present the trio.
And off we go.
I hit the Play button and in real-time, whatever comes, comes; I want to share with you the sensations felt during the listening. Commitment is the title of the opening track.
Sounds immediately gigantic, obsessive, mantra-like. Detached voice, a distant echo becoming more distinct, clearer. Robert utters his litanies, weaving guitar plots with an acerbic psychedelic flavor. Impetuous noises, a distortion that suddenly opens, and the first track takes off. Let's embark on a journey into remote space; here’s the first abandonment… the instruments turn off. Only the voice remains, increasingly faint. Then they come back to sink, to hit you in the face, to demolish you. The sounds become hallucinatory, tremendous, confused... and the song concludes like this. UNBELIEVABLE...
John again introduces The Desert Song, one of the absolute masterpieces of the God Machine. Drums and bass weave an alien, heavy, massive sonic carpet. A journey to the deserts of Asia, vast spaces opening up in the listening. Heat, scorching sun, air saturated with notes. Guitar riffs aiming to guide you to a secure destination. Screeching notes accompany you, the voice transforms into a lament, calms down; the music embraces you, sticks to you... and you come out dazed.
They have the courage to pay tribute to Bauhaus with a heart-stopping version of Double Dare... Like entering a gothic church at night, in the dark, alone. Dilated, wide sounds... a shouted voice that sends shivers down your spine. Everything becomes dark, ominous. Piercing drums, shaking you, heating the sticky sound of bass and guitar. And the church collapses on itself...
We are already at the end with Pictures of a Bleeding Boy. Calm atmospheres, after the previous fire. You get the impression that at any moment the explosion, the change of pace could happen. But we continue with inner peace, with that lament of instruments capable of creating idyllic, pure moments. The purity of the God Machine's sound: how many times have I felt it while listening to their songs!!! And it is so, and it will always be so with them... I take off my glasses for a moment; I dry tears of joy as the track fades away, it concludes. Ethereal, celestial, immense.
No sound will ever come close to such sensations, to what I feel, to what I feel with Robin, Ronald, and Jimmy.
I am done.
Diabolos Rising 666.
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