This is Kevin Martin’s first solo instrumental release as The Bug, which is a bit surprising given that he has been devoted to dread-soaked industrial dub mutations for roughly three decades now. These particular dread-soaked mutations were originally released as a series of five EPs of self-described “floor weapons” on Martin’s own Pressure label. I cannot argue with the “floor weapons” claim, as Machine is essentially an unbroken run of slow-motion bangers and seismic bass throbs, but the unifying aesthetic of those bangers is the more interesting bit, as Martin envisioned a new strain of “ice cold and dystopian” futuristic dub. That may seem like an eyebrow-raising claim, given that Martin is no stranger at all to futuristic/dystopian/mechanized menace, but I was legitimately caught off guard by how much the absence of any recognizably human element would transform my listening experience in both obvious and less obvious ways.
The twelve pieces collected on Machine are presented in chronological order based upon their original release date, but the album only includes roughly half of the complete “Machine” series. That, of course, means that Martin’s curatorial vision played a significant role in shaping the album’s trajectory. As the album unfolds, however, I can easily hear how Martin’s overarching vision evolved and expanded with each new installment, though it is still reasonable to describe Machine as “variations on a theme” with the theme being pummeling slow-motion machine rhythms, sludgy and seismic deep bass, a healthy dose of snarling and smoldering noise, and absolutely nothing else except the occasional wobbly and reverberating chord.
In lesser hands, I would consider that a dangerously monochromatic and constrained palette, but in Martin’s case it is more of a focused one. The difference lies in what Martin does with his limited materials: by cutting away any unnecessary clutter, he ensures that each of these pieces feels like an unstoppable mechanized juggernaut teeming with rich and vividly realized textures that squirm, buzz, seethe, and pan through space in mesmerizing fashion. This is the sort of album where the appeal can be summarized as “throw on some headphones or blast this album through a killer sound system and its pleasures will be immediately and seismically evident.” That said, the latter option may also reduce your home to rubble, but that would only enhance the album’s dystopian and post-human vibes in the short term.
While I certainly dig several pieces on the album’s first half (particularly the relentlessly crunching and blunted reggae chug of “Floored (Point of Impact)”), it is clear that Martin only got better and better at realizing his vision as the series unfolded, so most of the stronger pieces fall closer to the end. In fact, just about everything from “Hypnotised (F-cked up)” onward is a master class in crushing, speaker-straining heavyweight dub sorcery. In the case of “Hypnotised,” the allure is primarily the stomping, fuzzed-out, and hissing reggae shuffle, but there are plenty of other entrancing features to be found beyond Martin’s beats. For example, the insistently thudding beat of “Bodied (Send For the Hearse)” is mostly just an effective delivery device for plunging nightmare bass and a gnarled miasma of textured layers, while the more spacious “Exit (Wasteman)” feels like a city is collapsing in slow-motion around me while I stand mesmerized by a panning cymbal motif that resembles a psychedelic sprinkler or swarm of alien crickets. Elsewhere, “Departed (Left The Body Behind)” slays on all cylinders, as its blackened chug makes me feel like I am riding the nightmare train to mindfuck city and passing through all manner of lysergic vistas along the way.
Listening to this album deeply, I was struck by how much I have taken Kevin Martin for granted over the years, as no one other than Martin could have made an album like this because no one else brings together such a perfect intermingling of uncompromising sound design, mixing perfection, a deep understanding of dub technique and sound system history, excellent and wide-ranging taste, and a wildly ambitious and iconoclastic vision. If any single one of those elements were missing, Machine would not be nearly as great as it is, but they are all present and Machine consequently sounds fucking amazing. In hindsight, being reminded of Martin’s ‘90s Macro Dub Infection series of compilations brings everything into perfect clarity, as Martin has been tirelessly mutating heavy music’s DNA with Jamaican dub chromosomes for decades now with increasingly impressive results. On this album, it sounds a lot like Godflesh was the original host, but Jamaican reggae’s sensuous sway is considerably more present here than it is any of Justin Broadrick’s own dub excursions and this is just one stage of an ongoing mutation that could lead wherever Martin’s endlessly evolving aesthetic steers him. Hell, this album is even fascinating on a philosophical level, as it feels like Martin carved out the human element that exists between the poles of “animal” and “machine” to create a futuristic nightmare hybrid of the mechanized and the feral. Neat trick.
