If only Sean Bonniwell,creative force of The Music Machine, had been allowed to put out the intended album of originals rather being obliged to water it down with “commercial” covers of “Taxman,” “Cherry Cherry” etc. His own songwriting is strikingly inventive, diverse and light years away from the vast majority of other so-called Garage acts,the subject matter more complex and mature. There is punk attack,but much more than the cliched snotty punk arrogance and misogyny which characterise much of the output of the Nuggets one-hit/no hit wonders. Bonniwell’s voice is remarkably versatile,ranging from thuggish bark to seductive croon. His menacing, black-clad,single glove wearing band is a cut above as well,playing spooky minor key riffs in unusual tunings,anchored by a locked-on,funky rhythm section. There are lashings of Farfisa and fuzz guitar for Nuggets devotees, but MM’s stuff ‚along with Love and The Monks,stands apart from the rest as a class act with real substance and some originality.
You can see where The Doors got their ideas, (once they’d looted Love’s material) in the moody,organ led sound and verbose lyrics-only The Doors had the iconic alcoholic up front and added a whole new dimension in pseudo-poetic pomposity. Apparently, Morrison had been seen intently watching Bonniwell,leather pants and all,at MM’s hometown gigs in LA .
The self-penned material is delivered with raging intensity at times- tracks like their only hit “Talk Talk”, “Trouble” “The People in Me”,“Masculine Intuition” and “Wrong” being awesome on first listen- highly charged blasts of intellectual angst. In fact, these five are worth the cover price alone. These are nicely balanced by the slower material, “Come On In” showing in particular how intently Morrison must have been listening.There are echoes of Love, but instead of the endearing amateurishness of that band’s debut,there is the sound of a super-tight, proficient unit, (hence the “Machine” tag) which manages to keep its raw edge and avoid toppling over into slickness.
The MM sleepwalk through the obligatory covers, though,only “Hey Joe”- a fuzz-drenched, slowed down treatment predating Hendrix’s- warranting more than a couple of listens. Bonniwell still had a host of innovative,well-crafted compositions up his sleeve,so it must have been galling to see listless renditions of the likes “96 Tears” compromising what should have been a 100% killer album.Still, even as two thirds of an album,it still knocks the shite out the vast majority of contemporary releases.