A few years ago, I was cruising through some one-stoplight town in Southern Illinois, going an easy three miles over the speed limit as I always do. I don't have anywhere to be, man. So I'm puttering along when a pig rocks up behind me and flashes those lights. I drift over to the side of the blacktop, and then he comes stomping up to my car, shouting, “TURN THAT HIPPIE SHIT OFF!” Now that's a bad way to start a conversation, and I would have told him that if I hadn't had half a blotter sheet in my pocket. Instead, I keep my mouth shut and let him prattle on about how I'm disturbing the peace playing my “hippie shit” too loud. He goes on and on about my music, calling it trash for tree huggers and asking why I don't listen to some God-fearing music. You know what I was listening to? The Strokes. Hippie shit. I managed to talk my way out of a ticket, but as you may have noticed, I'm still carrying a grudge about this. So, in honor of Illinois’ finest, let's talk about some hippie shit: “Fort Perch Rock” by the Dream Machine.
The Dream Machine is only one of the finest psychedelic rock outfits from across the pond. They have been rocking the United Kingdom with their modern take on the keystone psychonaut style of music since the top of the 2020s. In their tenure, they have given us two full-length LPs and two EPs, as well as several singles. Now we get “Fort Perch Rock,” the junior album, typically the forgotten album. You see, you have your debut album, and that’s the one everybody loves; it’s fresh-faced and new. Then comes your sophomore album; it’s the make-or-break record. Either you live up to the precedent you set with the first one, or you fizzle out and fade away. If you get two knockouts, then you come to your junior album, and that is some tricky business. You have to outdo two beloved records. Make something new that will excite your listeners without altering your sound so much as to alienate any longtime fans. So, does “Fort Perch Rock” meet the mark? You better believe it does.
The album takes no time kicking things off, slamming right into a bouncy rocking and rolling number that beats any doubts you may have had about the LP right out of your head. Something about it calls to mind the Rolling Stones' “Rip This Joint,” that is, if it had been part of “Their Satanic Majesties Request” instead of “Exile on Main Street.” From there, the album takes you on a little bit of a ride. It feels no need to isolate itself into any one genre. As is the tradition of psychedelic rock, it explores all angles and outlooks, making itself a living, breathing thing that grows and evolves as it goes on. You have dreamy love songs, fast-paced anthems with a splash of punk, jaunty bops with a touch of twang, and a healthy dose of garage rock.
If I had to describe this album in the simplest terms possible, I would call it a psychedelic fusion of garage and surf rock. Obviously, this is a disgusting oversimplification, but those three genres do seem to be the backbone of “Fort Perch Rock.” The album blurs the lines between these three sounds; it’s honestly a fascinating case study of just how closely related the genres are. One minute it’s all wailing guitars and bubbly drums, then comes a song dominated by decimating envelope-filtered solos and undulating synths, and when you least expect it, it all comes crashing down into a bop that you would expect to hear in some overcrowded basement you paid two bucks to get into; but at least that came with a solo cup half full of light beer. The execution is just; it’s flawless. There is no floundering or flailing; one song flows into the next seamlessly, never making you feel any musical whiplash. It’s a stunning piece of psychedelia.
You can find “Fort Perch Rock” streaming wherever it is you get your music now. This is one that I have to recommend be listened to through a pair of high-quality headphones. There is quite a bit to chew on with this album; your car speakers just won’t do it justice. Find yourself a dark, quiet room to chill out in, pop those headphones on, maybe spark up something sticky, and give it several playthroughs. Each time you will find something you didn’t pick up on the time before that will make you fall deeper and deeper in love with the record. If you’re one of those lucky punks that happens to be over in the UK right now, then you can catch The Dream Machine playing all over your fine country. If you’re here stateside with me, well, settle in with the record and be patient. I’m sure they will make their way over here sooner or later.
