De Staat - Machinery

My word. What we have here is clearly one of the most disturbing, wide-ranging, downright delightful collections to have hit human ears in recent months. The second album from one of The Netherlands’ most curious rock exports is a record characterised by its wonderful poise, mad experimentation and massive balls.

On the basis of ‘Machinery’, De Staat are a difficult bunch to pin down. One minute the Nijmegen four-piece sound like Seasick Steve hanging out in a dusty field with Interpol, only for the next track to have them coming across like The Fall at their most biting. To take two polar opposites as examples of what they can pull off, ‘Sweatshop’ is like a dirty blues-rock hoedown with added cowbells and synths for good measure, while ‘Old MacDonald Don’t Have No Farm No More’ is what would result if James Brown was reincarnated as a member of Kyuss and started bossing Josh Homme around.

It’s nigh on impossible to identify the band’s full range of influences without going into a ramble of dissertation-like length. All that needs saying is that their rhythms are unsettling, their confidence is tangible and their songcraft, although unpredictable, is utterly compelling. Hell, how many bands can sound like they’re inducing the spirit of the Deep South and yet on the same album still produce songs that sound primed for the disco? Not many.

Torre Florim’s unpredictable manoeuvres between melody and snarl keep the listener on their toes for the duration, admittedly within a selection of tracks whose broad scope may prove to be too broad for some. For everyone else however, this should go down as an LP to be praised for its admirable sense of ambition and unconventional touches of brilliance. In the slightly bonkers climate of March 2011, it’s fair to assume that De Staat have been at the Tigerblood.