Smokey Robotic, Smokey Robotic

Smokey Robotic, Smokey Robotic

[Self released]

Reviewed by: Cooper Foyt

My first exposure to Smokey Robotic was the following self-description that is up on the collective’s website:

“Almost 40 years ago, in a no name bar somewhere in Mississippi where two roads meet, with a storm blowing in from the Gulf, something happened. The story goes that a woman walked in who was so shockingly beautiful, and somehow dangerous, that the bartender stuttered when he poured her a shot. The rednecks parted in silence as she made her way to the old Wurlitzer jukebox that had been dark and silent for years. She put in a coin, they say, and at the same moment there was a flash of lightning that seemed to come through the door.

The jukebox lit up and Al Green’s “Simply Beautiful” came pouring out. She didn’t seem surprised, not even when a two foot robot blew right out of the jukebox’s flashing lights and stood beside her. She took its hand, and they left. No one followed them. When Al Green was done, the jukebox went dead and silent again. That was it. For almost forty years. Like it never happened. Like they fell off the earth. Until now…When asked where he came from, Smokey only smiles and points up.”

If you genuinely think that sounds like the greatest description of a band then you are probably in the target market for this album. Which is to say you are probably high or a very young teenager, whether in body or spirit.

Smokey Robotic’s self titled album is a strange affair that is analogous to a bad science fiction movie from the 80’s. They have a very interesting picture of the future, filled with silver jumpsuits, space shade stunna glasses, combat boots, and alien punks with Mohawks who ride moon motorcycles all in the year 2003. In Smokey’s case, the band’s idea of “future” music seems to be rooted in the early 90’s techno/rave crazy and a projected 10 years in the future. It’s a dystopian landscape to say the least.

It’s hard to know how much the early 90’s aesthetic is purposeful, and if it is, where or not it’s meant to be nostalgic, ironic, or if they sincerely believe the rave siren melodies and warbling bass synth hits sound good. The bad songs on this album share are musical cousins of Ace of Base and whatever other bands will be related videos on YouTube. The whole production is seriously dated on almost every song, the only improvement from what was made 20 years ago being a better sense of depth in the mix, and the pseudo-R&B jams sit a bit better than hallucinogenic trance ever did.

Lyrically there isn’t much going on in the album. The sex songs aren’t particularly sexy and the introspective song’s lyrics are limited to conversations you have with your middle school friends at three in the morning. On the sexual front “Mrs. Cynthiasizer” the chorus goes “Misses Cynthiasizer makes your body go ooohhh” which continues into a full on techno bridge with an added background hypeman adding the tried and true “My my my”s and a monotone repetition of “sexy machine”. In a way it’s almost bold in the way it’s so bland. “Boss of Me” is the introspective track which judging by the sluggish pace was fueled by a robitussin trip. The track ponderously wonders “I am the boss of my mind/or is my mind the boss of me?” Yeah.

Thankfully there are some moments of relief on Smokey Robotic. “Earthquake” features an aggressive assaulting production that actually seems to have a vision behind it and “Superfuturisticmusicmakingpeoplehappy” could have been a B-side off of N.E.R.D.’s Fly or Die. The song that probably works best is “So Lonely” which not only breaks up the usually by the books production with some tasteful handclaps, a snare march, and what sounds to be a harpsichord. An actual sense of catharsis can even be felt during the chorus as a pounding piano gets bent and twisted by a fuzzing bass. It’s the hidden gem here.

Unfortunately the album goes back to its usual business of poorly thought out song structures and middling instrumentation. The album ends with the ballad “Astronaut Queen” which is almost a parody of the song it tries to be. A falsetto voice croons incomprehensibly somewhere in the murky distance, a group of men quietly sing “Her body is out this world/Astronaut queen,” Billy Joel piano chords fill up a smoke filled bar at closing time then fade into silence. I guess that’s full circle for you.

Score: 35%