Man & Machine – ‘Earthman’ (Fruits de Mer Records)
I used to have a thing against EPs. More self-indulgent than a single, not arsed enough, or not enough tracks to summon up a complete album, and not even qualifying for the charts. It was always extra glaring, as ever since the ’60s, the EP has become a real oddity, meaning little to the streaming generation nor worth issuing a CD for in the generation before that. An EP felt like belligerence – more so when an album did eventually turn up, and it had all the tracks included. So, what changed?
Well, firstly, probably my tolerance. Films regularly going on for over two-and-a-half hours now mean that when I watch an 80-minute black-and-white Universal film, it feels like manna from heaven. No chaff and an absolute crash, bang, wallop of an ending that can’t wait to get you to the credits. There’s even a good chance I won’t have had a nap after 20 minutes. There’s a similar thing in music – box sets of albums across (insert silly number) of discs with every breath and cough captured for study, band members held to ransom to climb into their lofts to look for forgotten D90s of dross.
Now, I enjoy listening to these as much as the next man, but without question, it loses the essence of magic you get from a tiny self-contained artefact that once sold out would likely take you years to eventually get your lugs around. If you leave YouTube or a streaming service unchecked, you’ll eventually hear everything ever uploaded, whether you wanted to hear it or not. It’s like the monkeys with typewriters rattling out Shakespeare. A staggering feat of sorts, but it’s already been done – all we’ve done is upset some chimps.
And so to Man & Machine, the musical vehicle for Tom Roche, who has nobly taken 15 years from start to finish to get onto an orange 10″ disc. Bizarrely, recording initially came via a recording facility in a library. The last time I was in a library, it took three people to work the printer to get one piece of paper printed. Eventually working with producer Stuart MacLeod, ‘Earthman’, like much of Fruits de Mer’s output, doesn’t sound dated because it was never in date. I’ve been waffling on, largely because despite having been able to listen to the EP for weeks now – and have done repeatedly – I’m still struggling to pin down who it sounds like.
If I say, “It sounds a bit like The Beatles in places“, I’m describing most Western music recorded since 1960, so let’s scratch that. Pink Floyd? As previously mentioned elsewhere, I’m no fan of Pink Floyd, so aside from a certain spaceiness, I’d say not. I’m also aware that describing it as ‘spacey’ is not going to win me any awards when there’s a big picture of an astronaut on the sleeve. What it is is undeniably heartfelt. The title track is one of the best things I’ve heard all year. It starts with breathy hope and grows into eye-scrunching yearning, hits key changes that make your neck muscles tighten and an electronic musical backdrop that manages to paint purple and green around some lovely guitar lines. What strikes me is having this tune in your head for the heavier end of two decades and being so dedicated to unleashing it.
‘Sleepyhead’ is more overtly psych – Tom’s vocals retain their purity, but are brushed with echo that adds a weariness and almost the feeling of a voyeur leering over the track. Unlike ‘Earthman’, it doesn’t really punch you in the stomach with a chorus; it acts like a slow-acting tranquiliser, putting its foot down hard on the woozy pedal and rubbing its hands as your eyelids grow heavy. The mix of instruments is again impressive; neither piano nor guitar looks to lord it over one another, leaving the vocals live in their own space rather than struggling to get to the surface. Indeed, the whole feel is of being gently submerged, baptism by barbiturates.
‘Otherworldly’ leads on perfectly, an exercise in atmosphere, ironically mimicking a mellotron with real instruments. I rewatched ‘Night of the Hunter’ recently, and the track reminded me of Robert Mitchum‘s distant voice singing ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’. It could scarcely be more innocent and yet at the same time loaded with unbridled dread. ‘Lost at Sea’, whilst equally beguiling, feels like a little of everything we’ve heard so far gathered up into a posy. Like all the tracks on the EP, you’re never shown behind the curtain – there are no crisp endings, no explanations, and no percussive rhythm pushing you in any expected direction.
‘Safespace’ goes full-on backwards guitar, loops and hymnal organ, not suggesting anywhere safe so much as a nice comfy coffin. An instrumental version of ‘Earthman’ concludes the collection with a fruity bass, offering a filmic coda to an EP that really took me by surprise. It’s a small, foggy, oddly moving thing that lingers extraordinarily. Not with nostalgia or retro fetishism, just the odd, stubborn persistence of an idea someone refused to let go of. Fifteen years is a long time to carry a tune around, but ‘Earthman’ never feels overworked. It feels lived-with. And maybe that’s why it works: it’s not trying to impress you; it’s simply relieved to finally exist. One of the best things you’ll hear all year.
Daz Lawrence
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