Before we get into this, let me make something clear: I'm wary of revivals. Garage rock, new wave, electroclash; it all sounds suspect to me. When I hear that two major players from a scene that's but a fart on the current musical radar are setting their sights on the flatulent du jour, I approach with caution. Like Blue Pepsi and MTV's The Real World, it's all about creating the next big thing and milking that motherfucker bone dry.
Many moments on the long-delayed Machine Says Yes indicate the album is a labor of love. Just listen to "Fear of Guitars", featuring the downed vocals of Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys and a devastating second half, or the Mr. Oizo gangsta limp of "Bleep Freak"; even the title track's easy hook proves there's some soul backing Kahuna brothers Daniel Ormondroyd and Jon Nowell. But for every infectious spark of danceable funk glitter, there's the rotting smell of formula. With repeated exposure, you build up an immunity to this kind of thing, and if you were alive in 1994, chances are, you've already been vaccinated.
The bulk of Machine Says Yes draws heavily on the rhythms and studio techniques of FC Kahuna's big beat roots, and garnishes them vigorously with the robotic female vocals and canned electro beats of Ladytron or Peaches; it gets old faster than Wesley Willis. Their technique works on the title track, whose fat, grainy bassline is well complimented by the darker Tiga remix, but every other attempt seems to fall all over itself: the stomping Oizo ripoff "Nothing Is Wrong" is saddled with vocals that approximate "Short Dick Man", and the irrational dunce tune behind "North Pole Transmission"-- who doesn't own Dig Your Own Hole?-- are just begging for the skip button. Kahuna's icy, lazy Portishead imitation-- the much-hyped "Hayling", which features Gusgus member Hafdis Huld on vocals-- hides no mystery. Beneath its surface, "Hayling" is tailor-made for an Ultimate Chill compilation.
As empty-headed as it can be, big beat can get some asses shakin', and tracks like "Glitterball" and "Microcuts", the latter featuring filtered hats and a prickly synth line, are a lock on any party's stereo. Yet, while FC Kahuna can be catchy, they're never solid: too much calculation has gone into Machine Says Yes. The record smacks of market research, not the craven, late-night interplay that communicates real soul.
The Kahunas claim some of this material has been on their hard drives since the late-90s, which, while a possible explanation for the album's jarring fluctuations in sonic clarity, fails to explicate the supernatural force that drives nice men like Daniel and John to treat music like a family-sized bandwagon stuffed with bales of cash. How many 2003 car commercials will feature FC Kahuna backbeats? Place your bets, folks.
