History Machine
Phoenix, Arizona, United States | INDIE
Music
Press
The Desert Song by History Machine is the perfect summer time jam for phoenix kids, if only because it's about them. If the hours I wasted studying marketing taught me anything, it's that people love the sound of their own voice. Why else does CNN waste time every broadcast showing us our own retarded tweets? Because a) it's cheaper to fill a 2-minute slot with audience generated one liners about Afghanistan than to actually pay a person with brain and a camera to go there and b) we love the sound of our own voice. @andersoncooper remember when you covered the original guantanamo? http://tinyurl.com/25xxzyw Why don't middle American mom's refudiate Sarah Palin as the future leader of the free world? Because Palin mirrors their own 7th-grade-reading-level vocabulary and ass-fuck backwards take on reality. Kids like blogs because other kids with filthy mouths write them. But I digress....
The Desert Song celebrates youths spent under the sun. It's apparent from the beginning, when a mariachi song fades in and out as if you were traveling left on the dial from KSLX to NPR and paused at one of the spanish stations along the way. Hank Rivera rips open the track by shreding the shit out his guitar. Andrew Bates' bass forges and undeniable presence, as if it belonged on one of the So Cal reggae tracks I grew up on. And then Chris Melton's tequila-washed voice takes you home -- to the desert of course. Expect more new songs from these kids after they hit the recording studio at the end of August.
Contact drummer Kit Hunn if you want an actual cd for $2. The artwork (above) is pretty dope wid it. Oh and visit their myspace for WAV versions. - Cowboy Zombie
Discography
History Machine E.P. - March 2010
History Machine LIVE: At The Conservatory - July 2010
jalipaz E.P. - December 2010
Photos
Bio
The sound of Arizona band History Machine is a blend of blues, soul and shag. The result is a form of gonzo roots rock that they have dubbed “Desert Rock.” Others have said the crew of desert rockers make something like beach music...for a dried up ocean.
Whatever it is, the band’s music seems to echo the sounds of a not-too-distant past, another time – another place even – where the living is temporal but easier. As the name History Machine alludes, the band’s artistic vision is like a bend in time – but is it a reflection of modern music’s late greats – of what has been – or is it an optimistic look toward future greatness? For now, it seems, “it’s easy going every day to day” as they sing in their single The Desert Song.
Dressed in pearl-snap shirts, shaggy haired and bleary eyed, they look like they could have fallen out of a roadhouse saloon in some forgotten railroad town. The two front men deliver simple licks with hefty chops; Chris “Tones” Melton and Henry “Hank” Rivera each have a different style and swagger allowing the band to move in various musical directions. Melton belts out the boozy croons while Rivera sings with a sweetness akin to Ritchie Valens’ youthful voice. But as much as History Machine is carried by dynamic singing and stage presence, the band gets its musical grit by acting as a true collaborative, with each member lending his hand to crafting songs. Kenneth “Kit” Hunn, the drummer, holds down more than the time – he pens many lyrics and makes sure the band has gigs to play; and when he’s not playing bass, Andrew “Andrew Bates” Bates spends his time making offerings to his demigod, legendary Mo-Town bassist James Jamerson, so that the band may truly groove.
For the cast of sun-burnt desert dwellers, homage is paid to fun and fucking around in an almost equal quantity as it is to their favorite musicians and practice. It’s easy to see this when you see History Machine perform live. They unlock the rudiments of what makes music great and move the crowd to dance.
History Machine is a burgeoning talent that is sure to make waves with lovers of classic rock ‘n roll and Mo-Town. With face-melting guitar solos, a distinctly nonchalant attitude and an almost reverential dedication to pleasing fans, what is not to like?
By Malachy Kearns
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