The rain patters rhythmically against the window; warm, slightly stuffy regurgitated air pumps around the room and the murky light filtering apprehensively through the window competes against the yellow of artificial indoor lamps. Perched frustratedly on his computer chair, a man slumps lazily over a battered, worn out old acoustic guitar, questioningly plucking the strings. He softly brainstorms and every now and then, ignites with a sudden gush of inspiration. Backed by the comforting sound of his guitar, he begins to sing. Improvised songs, self-questioning, simple wonderings; some sense made of a jumbled mind. Singing his troubles away…

‘Frances Albert Machine and Friends’, a cd-shaped scrapbook of thoughts, ideas, feelings and sounds cut straight from the heart and mind of a thirty-something, presumably many times heart-broken, devoted father; Rob Frankie. 17 poignant musical statements experimenting, testing and sampling everything imaginable - from equatorial-style world music and Cooper Temple Clause-esque computer/keyboard generated bleepy twiddley noises - to “the sounds of the local indoor swimming pool” and variations on the human voice.

Sounds pretty random and peculiar, right? So now you’re expecting some disjointed tuneless mess. But exactly that is the clever thing about this album. Tied together and trade-marked with those rainy day, personal, subtle ponderings, Frankie Machine captures that sincere, uplifting and touching melodic sound that is predominantly done so well by female artists [e.g. Gemma Hayes]… And then combines it discreetly with all his other influences and ideas, somehow explaining them and making it all seem logical.

This album is unique, intelligent, inspiring, and yet it still presents all the sing-a-long drive-time tunes you may desire. Admittedly, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, and you won’t be jumping around the room practising your rock-star poses by the end, but as far as creative, artistic and fascinating albums go, this one really _is_ something precious…