Cassettes Won’t Listen, Small-Time Machine
A dance hall record for introverted cyberkids.
Jason Drake, the sole producer of the indie-trip-hop outfit Cassettes Won't Listen, demonstrates with A Small Time Machine that he is just as capable crafting fully-formed electro-pop songs as he is remixing and dropping sick beats. His debut EP, Nobody's Moving, skewed towards indie-electronic, and The Quiet Trial followed with a heavier tilt toward hip-hop instrumentals and samples.
A Small Time Machine, Drake's third and only physically-released record, boasts trip-hop beats and chaotic synthesizers supporting straightforward indie piano and vocals; it's his most organic collection of songs yet. Edgier and more energetic than the Postal Service, Cassettes is quickly expanding the bubble of this narrow genre.
Drake has a reserved quality to his vocals, reminiscent of Beck and Steve Mason of the Beta Band, and it adds a mellowness to the cold, technological world summoned by his instrumentals. He is a master of the mix, and he uses his powers to summon the urgency of a futuristic thriller around the somber confessions of his sensitive-traveler soul.
On "Large Radio," Drake walks down dark urban avenues: as a heart beats and searches for its target — paranoia on all sides — the synthesizers quicken and signal an approach. "Paper Float," guided by a wailing electric guitar solo, describes robot-ification and workplace alienation.
"Freeze and Explode" is emotional but restrained, sad yet hopeful, a plea for the sweet release of resignation through a violent increase in volume. The thunder-distorted guitar on "The Broadcast" coalesces into pure vocals, and the raspy industrial pulsing builds a state of emergency.
All of these tracks add up to an entirely original achievement. It's a dance hall record for introverted cyberkids, their central processors lacking for new connections.
