LIVE REVIEW: The Dream Machine @ Future Yard, Birkenhead

Future Yard on the 22nd of November was a little like an old picture of your parents; slightly hazy, glamorously messy and probably fueled by something not mentioned after the night is over. 

Opening this affair were Idyllic, a jumble of jangly 60s guitar lines and 90s indie-rock crescendos. They’re the back room of an old record shop, bits of Jimi Hendrix and a couple of tunes by The Verve, with whisky stained dust sleeves and old guitar picks that rattle around. Each song was beautifully heavy, weighing down on the audience like the fog in an indoor smoking area or the mist that covers Liverpool of an evening. 

Photo Credit: Max Dowd

Next to emerge from this fog were Ambedo Blue, a charmingly gentle indie rock band. They started slowly, tiptoeing around their instruments like they had a strange fragility to them, before relaxing into melody driven, shimmering pop tunes. They are a proper Liverpool band, with percussion lines that sound like they’ve been lifted from The Beatles and lyrics that could be mistaken for The La’s. 

The Dream Machine were, of course, the only logical headlines for this evening of Liverpool-psyche-rock. They introduced themselves with a vague muttering into the mic, obscured by layers of fuzzy guitar, so thick it was spreadable. They played like a vinyl record, warm and crackling, settling into a groove that didn’t once falter. 

Old favourites provided the foundation for their set, notably ‘Three Eyed Dog’, as requested by a sign in the audience, which uses rough Bob Dylan vocals, soothed by sweet, bouncing melodies. ‘Too Stoned To Die’ had a similar, Nuggets inspired feel, flickering like an old film camera running on nostalgia. 

Their latest EP and singles did, however, feature heavily with ‘Fort Perch Rock’, a gritty 50s record, opening the set. These songs are perhaps the most DIY, stumbling along like kids at a seaside, sun-drunk and made lazy with chip butties and cones of ice cream. Through lead singer Zak McDonnell’s dark glasses and dense fringe, you could just about feel this child like excitement, every time a chorus began or a harmonica solo was called for. 

The night ended with ‘Children, My England’, which lies somewhere between Big Star and Joy Division, equal both in vibrancy and melancholy. It left Future Yard with a spinning head and a blurry memory, clinging tightly to Birkenhead's pavements. 

You hope that every gig by The Dream Machine will become a memory to tell your children, of how the night was slightly hazy, glamorously messy, and fueled by something you won’t talk about until they’re older.