Secret Machines: Now Here Is Nowhere

The forward thinking of the New York (by way of Texas) prog-punk band Secret Machines apparently extends to its distribution model: The group's major-label debut, Now Here Is Nowhere, was made available online, at live performances, and in some record stores (in a thin cardboard sleeve) for about a month prior to the "official" release date. Whether this represents shrewd 21st-century marketing or an intentional statement that Secret Machines' music won't be bound by mere packaging, the ready availability of Now Here Is Nowhere adds to the record's futurist mystique.

Drummer Josh Garza and brothers Ben and Brandon Curtis (the former on guitar, the latter on bass and keyboards, both on vocals) traffic in the thunderous electric blues of early-'70s "festival" bands like Canned Heat and Ten Years After, but with some fantastical Flaming Lips-style sweep and a strong dose of ancient European art-rock, à la Pink Floyd and Can. Over the nine tracks and 50 minutes of Now Here Is Nowhere, it's sometimes hard to separate intentional mood-setting atmosphere from indistinct songwriting, but the album establishes enough momentum that the general cacophony becomes as epic as it's meant to be.

The record's title is the biggest clue to what Secret Machines is all about. "Leaves Are Gone" and "Road Leads Where It's Led" celebrate a Zen-like nothing, while scattered pained lyrics and explosive music acknowledge that human violence and fear stain the perfection of the blank slate. It's deep stuff, contained in smartly crafted, powerfully performed songs. Secret Machines' biggest problem lies in its lack of interest in the physical trappings of record-making, which means it doesn't have artwork as radically trippy as the music. An album this beautifully heavy needs a cover to match.