Sometimes I think about Future Man.

It was Jackson, Mississippi, if I recall correctly, where I saw Bela Fleck, banjo player and jam band patron saint, refer to his group's oddly-dressed percussionist (whose instrument was, I assure you, sui generis) as "the finest 'synth-axe drumitarist' in the world". And rightly so. This throwaway joke, a small ironic gesture (that only served to call the audience's attention to the virtuoso manner in which Future Man plied his self-designed guitar/synth/drum combination), also serves as a novel restatement of a truism: it's easy to be the best when there's no competition.

It's quite a bit more meaningful to say that Francis Albert Machine (nee Frankie) is a standout performer in the realm of acoustic-guitar wielding, ambient-effects-twiddling, too-clever-by-half young British men. Whereas Future Man is number one in a field of one, Mr. Machine has firmly ensconced himself in the top 10-15 percent of, conservatively, six billion. This puts him in the company of, for instance, Baby Bird, which is solid company in which to find yourself. Machine does not do anything particularly sonically challenging or lyrically innovative; he just combines solid songwriting gifts with a pleasantly skewed world view and an appreciation of the additional textures that electronic and ambient sounds can add to his music. And he does it really well.

Opener "Nineteen Seventy Three" begins with an insistent, almost arena-rock style guitar riff; the secret is that the explosion you would normally associate with this sort of wind-up riff never comes. The song's title implies some sort of nostalgic look backward; the lyrics, however, demand that you dig deeper. "If I could change sides, I would be your enemy / If you could taste me, I would taste of victory / I wouldn't change a single / Thing except maybe...1973." These are the sorts of lyrics that reward rumination with both evocative scenes and ambiguous meanings. Here, an evocation of a complicated relationship yields no evidence of what that relationship might be: parent/child, lovers, siblings, friends? Moreover, is the reference to "changing 1973" intended to mean preventing one or the other's birth? Changing a childhood event? Avoiding parents' divorce? Intriguing, no? And yet, at the same time, Machine has very concretely and effectively established a reality for the relationship. In a few lines.

While those lyrics might evidence the artist's appreciation of Elvis Costello, another song is strongly reminiscent of John Darnielle's off-kilter, deadpan character sketches. This one, I'm assuming, is about some sort of serial-killing day care worker or doctor: "I only wish that people wouldn't judge me on the trail of destruction I've left behind me / If they went searching through the ashes they would find all they needed to absolve me / I only wish they wouldn't trust me enough to allow me to raise their children / For some people I guess it isn't enough / I won't leave them until I've killed them."

Great lyrics, good songwriting, appropriate and light-handed application of effects and ephemera...and all on a disc compiled from other releases. I'm looking forward to hearing what Francis Albert Machine can do with a full-length album.