It really is a bitch nowadays for young musicians not only to come up with their own voice but to do so in a way that will draw attention. One can go the petulant-brat route, banking on notoriety to lead to eventual absolution through some sort of awesome catharsis. Or one can funnel all that youthful energy into true musical diligence.
NYC’s Flying Machines have chosen the latter path, and every square millimeter of their homonymous debut is crammed with as many sonic ideas and permutations as the magnetic tape will allow. The results can sound as overbaked as you might expect — especially when you’re listening to the mannered vocalizing of William Ryan George, what with his ability to sound like the singer from the Darkness one minute and Antony Hegarty the next, and the way he rhymes “There’s no easy way to say” with “This just ain’t working for me” (“may”?!) in the opening “Talk About It.”
Then again, sometimes overbaked is nice, especially at a time when so much of what clogs the airwaves is so, uh . . . underbaked. The guitariffic divebombs that circle and ensnare every melody here and the precise synchronous piano/drum attack all coalesce into a filling, Ben Foldsy smart-rock casserole.
