ABOUT THIS ITEM

The toxic stagnant air which envelopes the factory-tinged corridor along the New Jersey Turnpike is known to cause some unfavourable side effects. Then there is Fun Machine, an organic anomaly that rose out of this industrial wasteland in an attempt to revolt against the dark matter. The parts have been electro-magnetically connected since their forging in the machine shop. These parts; Johnny, Wetzel, Colin, and Renee had no clue of this electro-magnetic field's existence, let alone their fateful future of when their threads would become tightly intertwined as one. At times dramatic, at turns, relentlessly aggressive, the jagged rhythmic path emits an electric kick to the senses while a joyous confusion fills the ears of the unsuspecting listener. Watching the crowd at a Fun Machine show is nearly as entertaining as watching the band themselves because as soon as they launch into their performance people tend to look at each other as if they were being transported to another dimension. Feet tap and smiles widen with sudden hairpin turns into a breathless precision that is filled with organized chaos transcending into a screaming keyboard solo swaying in ecstasy behind lush walls of spiralling vocals encapsulated by vintage synths that glide imperceptibly, into quiet, ambient beauty. After several minutes of "Blok People" or one of the band's other epics, the mind goes blank. Each segment of each song is an atmosphere. Each atmosphere is carried for as long as it is interesting, added to and subtracted from for as long as it remains entertaining. Then, the song turns its attention elsewhere, and a new world opens. Formlessly creative, the band seems to have no genre boundaries. Wherever the song turns, you and Fun Machine will be there, carrying each other's moments into the future.