And chances are, you're sleeping on it.
I know I know, it’s a bold claim. Utah is home to a lot of great artists, from the widely commercially successful Imagine Dragons and Neon Trees to indie lifers The Moth and the Flame and Sego. But there’s one artist here that’s just the best(and I’ve seen a lot). Excuse me while I geek out about their work.
The band is called Fictionist and the album is called Sleep Machine. And it is so {insert hyperbolic expletives here} good.
Formed in 2010 during the glory days of the Provo and larger Utah music scene, Fictionist is a band that lives up to the regional hype. But even considering the accolades they’ve received, Fictionist’s quality stock is underrated and under-appreciated. There are no weak links in the lineup. Frontman Stuart Maxfield is a fantastic bass player and multi-instrumentalist/producer, and to top it all off he can scream like a madman(trust me it’s dope). Co-frontman Robbie Connolly melts faces with guitar and synthesizer wizardry(When he’s not a touring member of The Killers, that is.) Second guitarist Brandon Kitterman compliments the dynamic-fronting-duo perfectly with tone and talent to boot. Top it all off with Aaron Anderson, a drummer who plays the groove so tightly he makes fills seem almost entirely superfluous. Plain and simple, the band’s talent and musical knowledge runs deep, and their collective synergy is razor sharp on Sleep Machine.
When the Beatles released Abbey Road in 1969, they blended both pop sensibility and musical virtuosity into an album mostly void of breaks between songs. By doing this, they shattered the existing paradigm of what a record could be. Each piece stands alone musically, but flows seamlessly into the next, with motifs that echo throughout. In 1973, Pink Floyd followed suit with the now infamous Dark Side of the Moon, the record so good that even your girlfriend has the logo on her shirt(even though she’s never heard the album.) Fast forward 50 years and a million musical permutations later, and we have Sleep Machine- a glitchy, dirty, pop-rock masterpiece that resonates like any classic record, but with songs short enough to capture the ADD millennial attention span. While colored differently in theme and tone, Sleep machine boasts the same dangerous formula the Beatles had: Just enough infectious hooks to keep you wanting more, while complimenting the sugary pop with nutritious musical complexity and quirky production, a la Roger Waters and David Gilmour.
So where did it come from? Like anything that is equal parts reckless and ingenious, Sleep machine’s conception came after Stuart Maxfield's older brother dared him to make it. Maxfield may as well have been a pre-teen careening down a hill towards a homemade skateboard ramp, hoping to stick the landing. Naturally, he enlisted his bandmates to get him up to speed. After composing each song as a standalone piece, they shortened them individually so they compliment the flow of the overall album, with no gaps. A 13 minute draft of the abridged songs eventually morphed into the 20 minute final version. The boys then enlisted the help of Scott Wiley, master recording engineer at June Audio, to mix the tracks and give his final input on the recordings. His ear gives the cacophonous thrill-ride of a record a crisp, digestible sonic composition. The end result sucks you in and makes you feel as if you are the presumptuously immortal, reckless kid on the skateboard. The music on Sleep Machine literally dares the listener into an adrenaline-filled, no-brakes ride.
Inspiration for the lyrics was more flow of consciousness than anything else, but what better way to narrate the youthful caution to the wind instrumentals and explosive carefree choruses? The intro “Sleep Machine 1” paints me a picture of a lazy teenager, too anesthetized by video games and digital stimuli to clean off his Cheeto-fingers, get out of bed and enjoy the summer weather. But like a zombie, he is summoned seemingly from the dead by his taunting friends on “Lazarus,” which sequences Sex-Pistols like energy and forces him outside. Then boy meets girl on “Manic,” and the hormones happen. But like the borderline stalker insanity kind where you almost lose your mind over your first crush. It’s an explosive sexual awakening of a track; buckle up. Then things slow down on “You,” which seems to illustrate some deeper childhood trauma, morphing into healing and acceptance. “I live the life I understand and that’s enough for me,” he tells himself reassuringly, on the way into a party on “We Can Sleep When We Die.” It’s the YOLO moment on the album. But the party eventually fades into compartmentalized alcoholism and paycheck to paycheck living. “Working Stiff” and “I Don’t Want to Say Goodbye” echo the cynical coming-of-age sentiments of what he will eventually become, and all the places he will never go. But the final track, “Sleep Machine 2” is a reprise that rocks you back into a blissful comedown summertime slumber. It’s the chorus, “Don’t wake me, don’t shake me” that screams at you: Maybe you should have never woken up. Go back to sleep.
Musically and sonically, Sleep Machine seems to find the perfect balance between layered beauty and textured filth. Within the mix you can find robotic vocoders and angular synth sequences, but they never detract from the overall grooviness of the feel. The guitar driven elements have a fuzzy character about them, and even the most explosive of the distorted sections go over smoothly on the ears. The balance carries over into the melodies, which have sugary pop hooks, but keep you healthy with nutritious countermelody. The production comes in clutch by making even the most accessible elements vibey. For example, “We Can Sleep When We Die” could have been an Owl City song, but it’s dressed up in enough leather to stay in the Indie Rock ballpark while still being crazy fun. While “Right Now” pulsates with electronic pop energy, it still feels like the cool kid at the party got up and is singing karaoke. You know how it goes- immediately everyone’s like, “Oh right- it’s ok for me to enjoy this,” and all insecurity goes away. Rhythmically, the chaos somehow works, and I still don’t know how, but it freaking does. The drums are absolutely insane and the toms feel like they’re flying around the room during an earthquake. The explosive low-end distortion is tastefully saved for moments when you don’t think it can get any crazier, then BOOM there’s more. Want pop? Want raw rock? Wanna party at an electronic rave with someone who knows the guy who wrote “Mr. Brightside?” It’s all in there. I swear.
As the album finishes and the loudness fades out, you can hear a faint marching sound and quivering synth that continue on, as if all of it existed in your subconscious and you’re just gonna rest from the noise for a while. It never really leaves your brain. It begs multiple listens and seems to invite a next chapter, which I am anxiously awaiting from my favorite Utah band. In my not-so-humble opinion, Sleep Machine is the best record Utah has ever heard since Brigham declared “This is the Place.” I think great art is worth celebrating and if you haven’t heard Sleep Machine, please give it 20 minutes of your time. You won’t regret it.
-Tal Haslam
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