The Scratched Disc: Machine Head
Dipéipol, as the puro calls them, the organ band. Hard rock, picket. Not tough-strawberry-voice female leader pale as a vampiress playing goth, nor hard-dark-ridiculous death metal; hard from within, from the purple depths; hard from intense neck pain, from invisible guitars and drumsticks, from pens that are microphones, from bitten lips and a severe expression on the face; hard from a tense and depleted artery, and from your mother knocking on the door of the room to see if everything goes well in there.
I had copied the Deep Purple discography and I was listening to it slowly, in order; But I saw a chapter in the Classic albums documentary series dedicated to this phonogram, where fascinating stories about the recording and production process were told in the first person. So I had to violate the rule and fast forward until 1972. There I was met with a thick sound, bluntly, that boiled my brain and tormented the residents of the neighborhood.
When Jon Lord plays his Hammond organ the atmosphere is charged, the density of the air increases. His hands are heavy. Not him, the keyboard, and that's why he screams, shrill.
Everything happens very fast in the 37 minutes of the Machine Head (EMI / Purple, 1972). When Ritchie Blackmore's guitar ride begins on Highway Star, the first track, we take a big puff of oxygen that we're going to hold all the time, until the Space Truckin 'riff ends, the last cut (that's what we are hearing is the original version of the album). It is always promotion, it does not give you a break. Lucky those who listen to it in long play format, who can go to the bathroom to urinate when Never Before ends and, in return, turn the vinyl. It has no intermezzo or coda, so when hypnosis ends we find ourselves at the top of the hill after climbing it like zombies, and we don't know how the hell to get down from there. That is the reason why, at the request of the millions of people stranded at height, When was added to Blind Man Cries, that beautiful ballad, as an epilogue, in the 1997 CD reissue, in order to gradually descend, and exhaling the contained air until the heart rate has normalized.
In Lazy, the sixth track, the Deep Purple were able to stop at 4:19, invent a decent closure, leave it as instrumental, give the folder and move on to the next track, it would still be my favorite cut of the album. But no, Ian Gillan has to sing: "You´re lazy, you just stay in bed / You´re lazy, you just stay in bed / You don´t want no money, you don´t want no bread", and then take the harmonica and put air in it. Air and a certain disposition of mind, enough to remind us that they had also been hurt, good damage, the fact that almost a century before a tired black man in the southern United States, sitting on the doorway of a house made of wood, with the chair tilted, resting only on the rear legs and the upper edge of the backrest against the wall, he has grabbed a guitar and started to sing his sorrows.
Carlos M. Mérida
Oidor. Coleccionista sin espacio. Leguleyo. Temeroso de las abejas y de los vientos huracanados.