Listen: Horse With No Name by Tone Ranger

Tone Ranger is the musical project of Alex Simon, who resides in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Simon moved to the desert back in 2018, with an ambition to capture its stark beauty within his music. Here he channels that ambition into an ambitious cover of America’s classic slice of US-influenced folk, Horse With No Name.

For the uninitiated, the group America actually hailed from the UK as Air Force kids who formed a band in London before moving to LA. Despite their origins, the group established a blueprint that came to define much of the Americana sound of the 70s.

For Alex Simon, Horse With No Name came to define the American desert’s epic mystery. Having established his own sound using a blend of Electronica and Americana, something he dubs Electrocana, this felt like a cover that destined to happen. Describing his thoughts on the song, Alex said:

‘Horse With No Name is an amazing song. It evokes the desert more strongly than any other song in the Classic Rock cannon and of course, it’s got a really catchy tune. Horses galloping, soft harmonies, a lot of open space to play with. A psychedelic desert masterpiece. Living in the desert of the Southwest, in the lands that inspired the song — I’ve always felt such a personal connection to it. It’s been a dusty journey of its own, creating this cover.’

The result is a subtle reimagining, despite the electronics. Simon retains the beautiful vocal layering, performed by himself, together with his wife Gabriella who, fittingly, comes from England. Subtle synth melodies and soft bass establish a canvas for the pair’s performance, together with the odd guitar riff. The result feels like a version of America’s original, cracked by the desert sun and dug out of the sand, modern yet timeless.

In addition to listening in the post, you can find almost all the music BlackPlastic covers on the music player of your choice. Add the dedicated playlist below:

Apple Music

Spotify

Sound Club: Now Here is Nowhere by Secret Machines

This is a cross-post from my Sound Club music club, where I regularly share an album for listening and discussion. Check out the club here.

Secret Machines were one of the first artists I discovered through the medium of the MP3 blogs — sites like Fluxblog.org that got their start by hosting MP3 files of new music, and talking about them. At the time, these sites seemed too good to be true. Perhaps they were — ironically, whilst music is still abundantly available for free, quality journalism is the scarce resource.

Before the age of the MP3 blog, my experience of discovering music typically involved reading about it (in Jockey Slut, Muzik, or The Face), imagining how it sounded, and eventually finding a way to hear it. This often took days or weeks — scouring record shops for vinyl or a CD, or Audio Galaxy for a dodgy MP3. In the case of the latter, I would sometimes get confronted with a file, and then be unsure whether it was even the right thing. I still remember The White Stripe’s Hotel Yorba sounding nothing like the imagined song in my head. It was a thrilling experience, yet also, occasionally, a frustrating one.

The MP3 blogs ended all that, condensing weeks and days to just 20-minutes (or even five, with ADSL)! Secret Machines were apparently a controversial artist in this era because their label, Warner, sent MP3s to bloggers unsolicited, which was considered a perversion of… something? I wasn’t aware of this controversy at the time, and as a music blogger who has spent the last 20 years frankly overwhelmed by unsolicited submissions, it feels like a quaint thing to get riled up about.

Regardless, Secret Machines were founded by brother Brandon and Benjamin Curtis, with Josh Garza on drums. That line-up didn’t endure — Benjamin left to form School of Seven Bells, and he tragically died, before his time, in 2013. Now Here is Nowhere is an epic Möbius strip of an album, preceded only by the band’s (also great) September 000 EP. It saw the band count David Bowie among their fans, yet they also never really topped it, though there are definite glimmers of genius on later LPs.

Weaving together a prog rock sound with elements of Krautrock and psychedelia, the album has a truly epic sound, despite a fairly conventional approach to instrumentation. The only band from that era that feels similar to me was Spiritualized — a group that at times felt more like an art installation than a group of people making music.

Opening with the throbbing First Wave Intact, Now Here is Nowhere has the aesthetic of a Saturn V rocket on the launch pad. Garza’s drums kick like sparks of ignition, before the whole thing gradually lifts off, not in an instant, but with the slowly building intertia of a rocket, jet engines blasting as slivers of crystalline ice tumble from its fuselage. Vocal harmonies evoke something both childlike and otherwordly as the album’s nine minute opener slipstreams to its conclusion.

Sad and Lonely lives on its thundering drums and a chorus that feels like a 60s rock hook captured on faded Polaroid and sellotaped onto the control console of a spaceship. Nowhere Again is probably the album’s most pop moment, a guitar riff looping as its central vocal hook gradually works itself into a frenzy. It is also one example of the album’s looping structure, born out of frustration at (likely accurate) feedback that the initial draft of the album didn’t include a single. Nowhere Again references the album’s closing title track, both in its title and its central riff.

You Are Chains is the song I most immediately gravitated towards. A kind of epic rock ballad, grounded in the kind of massive drums leveraged by Genesis and Tears For Fears, it depicts someone stuck and stranded without even knowing. In line with the interplanetary themes I hear all over this record, Brandon talks about having crash-landed, and I imagine him on an alien world, stuck but too in awe to notice.

Closing with the song Now Here is Nowhere, the album forms a kind of loop, both recalling Nowhere Again, and acting like a mirror to opener First Wave Intact. It shudders with the same sense of scale as the album uses on its opening. Lyrical refrains loop in on themselves, and the record disintegrates, like that Saturn V exploding in space, components scattered to float in disparate directions forever more. The band apparently practiced this song endlessly, playing it for an hour at times. It is the sort of close that makes me want to reach over to my vinyl copy of the album, go back to side A and start the whole thing again right away.

Watch: Flight Simulator by Antony Szmierek

Following on from his distinctive and cinematic piece, Chalk, featured on BlackPlastic in March, British electronic producer Antony Szmierek is back with new single Flight Simulator.

Szmierek was working as an English teacher at a college for children with developmental needs as his combination of spoken word and cinematic electronic production took off. Initial success led to him collecting the 6Music Artist of the Year award for 2023 following his EP, Poems to Dance To. Having subsequently found further breakthrough success with last year’s album Service Station at the End of the Universe, Szmierek has found exposure through a combination of Glastonbury Festival, Jools Holland, and frequent BBC airplay.

Here on Flight Simulator, the artist paints a picture of fear triggered by humanity’s hubris in the modern age. Snapshots of aeroplanes, whether real, imagined or digital, create a moment of reflection as Szmierek wrestles with the notion of control, responsibility, and fate. The meaning is open to our interpretation — is this a song about a flight simulator, or about the weight of the choices we make in life, and our responsibilities to those that our choices affect?

As with Chalk, Szmierek’s vocals here provide a grounded contrast to the music. His lyrics hit poetic highs, with just the song’s first few lines evoking so much so quickly:

‘And all the birds, they won’t stop laughing at the folly of the human race. Cuz we thought that we were angels We watch particles accelerate. If I can’t land it, then I’ll fuck it Right through my ex’s garage, And when I’m comatose It will be her voice that guides me through the panic.’

Shuffling synth sounds evoke heavenly electronics of Dan Snaith and Fred again.., as Szmierek’s performance is gently embellished with additional vocals from Imogen and the Knife. A video depicts Szmierek, sat over the shoulder of a man attempting to land an aeroplane on a supposed flight simulator, shaking as things begin to go wrong. A message is recorded into a phone as Szmierek dances with Imogen, coloured lights enveloping them, much like Paul Mescal’s character in Aftersun.

Following on from the cinematic grime of Chalk, Szmierek has made something more haunting and beautiful.

In addition to listening in the post, you can find almost all the music BlackPlastic covers on the music player of your choice. Add the dedicated playlist below:

Apple Music

Spotify

Watch: Sick by Nice Boat

With a propulsive beat and grungy bass guitar, Nice Boat’s new single subverts typical genre categorisation.

With a minimal sound that is constructed around a small number of components, Sick reminds me of Death From Above 1979, with a bit of post-punk darkness, and some added garage rock grime. Deadpan vocals and a propulsive drum beat create something threatening and yet also undeniably playful.

Duo Dylan Silver and Mike Thrasher quickly becoming friends following their initial meeting, but there was never a plan to form a band, as Dylan explains:

‘Years went by, and one day Mike sent a beat my way. I figured it was a joke when he said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we were a band?”’

The economical sound the group have is very purposeful, as Mike describes:

‘We try not to think in terms of genre and instead focus on what sounds feel right in a visceral way… and that fits within our minimal instrumentation setup.’

The pair are releasing Sick ahead of their planned debut album, I Don’t Have the Bandwidth, due on 25 September via Slouch Records. The song itself is an intense reaction to a person who represents the potential to hurt or threaten you, or those you care about, as Silver lays out:

‘The lyrics were sparked by a real person from a complicated past, but the feelings reach further than that. I think we can all relate to those fleeting, flickering moments when the thought of someone whose hurt us or hurt someone we love crosses our minds and the idea of them getting hurt doesn’t feel all that wrong. In fact, it feels kinda great.’

Check out Sick below, and look out for the album, I Don’t Have the Bandwidth, in September.

In addition to listening in the post, you can find almost all the music BlackPlastic covers on the music player of your choice. Add the dedicated playlist below:

Apple Music

Spotify

Sound Club featured album: Less Than Human by The Juan Maclean

Following on from my recent post about the BlackPlastic hosted club on Sound Club, I wanted to share the write-up that accompanies the current album I'm featuring there. That album is the Juan Maclean's Less Than Human. Check out my write-up below, and head over to Sound Club to listen to the album and join in any discussion.

Coming out relatively early on in a run of what was arguably a golden era for DFA Records, John Maclean’s The Juan Maclean project saw him team up with LCD Soundsystem’s Nancy Whang. Together they have created multiple albums blending elements of house, techno, and electro.

None resonate for me quite like this first album, Less Than Human. Whilst it comprises just nine songs, making up less than fifty-minutes of music, this is an album that occasionally reaches epic proportions. More on that later.

AD2003 is a futurist piece of electronica, synths crash and crisp drums clash on this short intro. Shining Skinned Friend is a fuller illustration of what is to come, however - post-punk influenced drums clatter, deadpan vocals creating a robotic atmosphere, against which Whang’s whispers provide hints of humanity. It is a series layered synths that really provide the song its melodic anchor however, tones weaving amongst soft pads to create a complex, mechanical combination of sounds.

Every Little Thing opens with a clear blue stuttering synth, feeling like we are floating in space. And then Maclean drops a funky as hell bass line - conjuring a retro futurist sound that simultaneously sounds like it is from 1977, and 2037. Tito’s Way is a cacophony of noise - closer to the sort of thing label head James Murphy is known for. Drums collapse into one another, combining with a taut bassline to create a kind of stressful tension.

In my view it is here where the album drops down a gear, before coming back with the softly sanded corners of Crush The Liberation’s synths, a kind of heavenly zero attack melody, that take us back into orbit.

It is the closer, however, that acts as both the album’s, and Maclean’s career, highlight. At 14-minutes long, it represents almost a third of the entire album. Whenever I rave about this song I find many are left feeling cold by it, but there is a subtle beauty to what Maclean and Whang created. The whole album is an experiment in blending humanity with robotics - something that feels even more relevant in our age of AI than it did on release. Maclean’s synths squeak and shuffle, a series of building tones that swirl amongst themselves, exhibiting enough randomness to feel like a synthetic approximation of humanity. It is the combination of Whang, and a series of melodies from a distant piano, that anchor the song. Like a love letter between robot and person, Whang’s vocal gradually shifts from a spoken deadpan deliver to something more vulnerable and human.

“Yeah, there’s something I’ve got to tell you… hey, but I don’t know what to say,” she says, before gradually shifting to sing, “come on over, and dance with me.” It’s like a machine developing consciousness and desire, and altogether it represents an experimental piece of electronic music that is, in and of itself, a commentary on how electronic music contains deep humanity. And in the background is that piano - human, imperfect, yet beautiful.