Little Dragon return with a spectacular second album offering in August, a pulsating electro pop epic that Prince would be proud of (only fronted by a beautiful Swedish lady with a sultry voice). A bold and surprising side/two step onwards from their self titled debut, released two years ago to great acclaim especially among specialist circles. Machine Dreams, with its nagging hooks and gloriously infectious tunes, should finally see the band break out into the mainstream.Recorded in their home city of Gothenburg, Machine Dreams is a gigantic leap on from previous material but still maintains a distinct sound that can only be Little Dragon. Be it Yukimi s warmly inviting vocals, Erik s dextrous drumming, the vast array of synths and bleeps created by Hakan or Frederik s bubbling bass lines, together they don t sound like anything else around right now. The move towards a more electronic sound was a conscious one, as Yukimi explains; The title Machine Dreams seems obvious. These days, humans seem more and more like machines, and as technology evolves, machines feel more human and it becomes fuzzy and beautiful and science fiction-ish. We feel dependent on our machines to create and live, and their sounds reflect us .Album opener A New breaks us in gently with a single whirring note on the synthesiser, an almost alien sound that gradually morphs into a slow, thumping bassline. Yukimi s vocals flow alongside Hakan s assortment of sound effects interspersed with militaristic drums breaks. A magical opener that sets the scene and seems to sink into itself, taking us with it, until the pace is swiftly ratcheted skywards with Looking Glass , the massive snare, crisp driving beat and experimental synths revealing the band s current penchant for the 80 s. This influence continues apace into stand out track My Step . Utilising a solid drumbeat that nestles next to jagged and playful synthlines, the track breaks down into motorik propulsion with a scuzzy techno bassline that Yukimi works with ease. Upcoming single Feather finds Yukimi s voice at its most detached and blaze, seemingly nonchalant yet magnificently seductive. Backed by Hakan s keyboard atmospherics, the song creates a soundscape reminiscent of Tears For Fears more reflective moods. Gradually layering more vocals, synths, echoes and reverb, it builds to a quietly psychedelic, dreamy cosmic swirl. Runabout brings forth a mini Airto style percussive breakdown at the tail end of yet another Little Dragon pop gem. Swimming bursts forth into vision with stabbing keys and reflective bass alongside yet another wonderful vocal performance from Yukimi who sings of young love and now so many years have past, my memories as clear as glass . The song is over as quickly as it started, flowing into the next miniature masterpiece in the form of Blinking Pigs The album closes with the stunning track Fortune , which has already caught the attention of none other than DJ Shadow. It s no wonder really, as the textured melodies blend with the drifting percussion, creating a blissful sonic mood. With a smattering of drums and bass and the magic of Yukimi s voice and Hakan s electronic dynamics floating on top, it s the perfect track to end this fascinating journey through Little Dragon s brave new world.With disparate influences from Depeche Mode to Prince, LCD Soundsystem to James Holden, Dancehall to R&B, Jazz and Soul, Little Dragon take their place among artists who straddle many genres, yet somehow create their own and in doing so create sounds that make time stop (Yukimi). Futuristic yet somehow retro, Machine Dreams sees Little Dragon achieve something timeless; that elusive pop classic.
Little Dragon, Machine Dreams Full Album Zip
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But it was Kim who had wakened the lama - Kim with one eyelaid against a knot-hole in the planking, who had seen the Delhiman's search through the boxes. This was no common thief thatturned over letters, bills, and saddles - no mere burglar who ran a little knife sideways into the soles of Mahbub's slippers,or picked the seams of the saddle-bags so deftly. At first Kimhad been minded to give the alarm - the long-drawn cho-or-choor! [thief! thief!] that sets the serai ablaze of nights; but he looked more carefully, and, hand on amulet, drew his own conclusions.
They met a troop of long-haired, strong-scented Sansis withbaskets of lizards and other unclean food on their backs, their leandogs sniffing at their heels. These people kept their own side ofthe road', moving at a quick, furtive jog-trot, and all othercastes gave them ample room; for the Sansi is deep pollution. Behindthem, walking wide and stiffly across the strong shadows, the memoryof his leg-irons still on him, strode one newly released fromthe jail; his full stomach and shiny skin to prove that theGovernment fed its prisoners better than most honest men could feed themselves. Kim knew that walk well, and made broad jest of itas they passed. Then an Akali, a wild-eyed, wild-haired Sikhdevotee in the blue-checked clothes of his faith, withpolished-steel quoits glistening on the cone of his tall blue turban,stalked past, returning from a visit to one of the independent SikhStates, where he had been singing the ancient glories of the Khalsato College-trained princelings in top-boots and white-cordbreeches. Kim was careful not to irritate that man; for the Akali's temperis short and his arm quick. Here and there they met or wereovertaken by the gaily dressed crowds of whole villages turning out tosome local fair; the women, with their babes on their hips,walking behind the men, the older boys prancing on sticks ofsugar-cane, dragging rude brass models of locomotives such as they sell fora halfpenny, or flashing the sun into the eyes of their bettersfrom cheap toy mirrors. One could see at a glance what each hadbought; and if there were any doubt it needed only to watch thewives comparing, brown arm against brown arm, the newly purchaseddull glass bracelets that come from the North-West. Thesemerry-makers stepped slowly, calling one to the other and stopping tohaggle with sweetmeat-sellers, or to make a prayer before one ofthe wayside shrines - sometimes Hindu, sometimes Mussalman - whichthe low-caste of both creeds share with beautiful impartiality. Asolid line of blue, rising and falling like the back of a caterpillarin haste, would swing up through the quivering dust and trot pastto a chorus of quick cackling. That was a gang of changars - thewomen who have taken all the embankments of all the Northernrailways under their charge - a flat-footed, big-bosomed,strong-limbed, blue-petticoated clan of earth-carriers, hurrying north on newsof a job, and wasting no time by the road. They belong to thecaste whose men do not count, and they walked with squared elbows, swinging hips, and heads on high, as suits women who carryheavy weights. A little later a marriage procession would strike intothe Grand Trunk with music and shoutings, and a smell of marigoldand jasmine stronger even than the reek of the dust. One could seethe bride's litter, a blur of red and tinsel, staggering throughthe haze, while the bridegroom's bewreathed pony turned aside tosnatch a mouthful from a passing fodder-cart. Then Kim would jointhe Kentish-fire of good wishes and bad jokes, wishing the couplea hundred sons and no daughters, as the saying is. Still more interesting and more to be shouted over it was when astrolling juggler with some half-trained monkeys, or a panting, feeblebear, or a woman who tied goats' horns to her feet, and with thesedanced on a slack-rope, set the horses to shying and the women toshrill, long-drawn quavers of amazement.
He rose and stalked to the cart. Kim would have given his earsto come too, but the lama did not invite him; and the few wordshe caught were in an unknown tongue, for they spoke some commonspeech of the mountains. The woman seemed to ask questions which thelama turned over in his mind before answering. Now and again heheard the singsong cadence of a Chinese quotation. It was astrange picture that Kim watched between drooped eyelids. The lama,very straight and erect, the deep folds of his yellow clothingslashed with black in the light of the parao fires precisely as aknotted tree-trunk is slashed with the shadows of the low sun, addresseda tinsel and lacquered ruth which burned like a many-colouredjewel in the same uncertain light. The patterns on the gold-worked curtains ran up and down, melting and reforming as the foldsshook and quivered to the night wind; and when the talk grew moreearnest the jewelled forefinger snapped out little sparks of lightbetween the embroideries. Behind the cart was a wall of uncertaindarkness speckled with little flames and alive with half-caught formsand faces and shadows. The voices of early evening had settled downto one soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping ofthe bullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest wasthe tinkle of a Bengali dancing-girl's sitar. Most men had eatenand pulled deep at their gurgling, grunting hookahs, which infull blast sound like bull-frogs.
'Why, it's a boy!' he said, as he drew his prize under thelight of the tent-pole lantern, then shaking him severely cried: 'Whatwere you doing? You're a thief. Choor? Mallum?' His Hindustani wasvery limited, and the ruffled and disgusted Kim intended to keep tothe character laid down for him. As he recovered his breath hewas inventing a beautifully plausible tale of his relations tosome scullion, and at the same time keeping a keen eye on and alittle under the Chaplain's left arm-pit. The chance came; he duckedfor the doorway, but a long arm shot out and clutched at hisneck, snapping the amulet-string and closing on the amulet. 2ff7e9595c
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