Scouring Nuggets, a compilation comprised of singles and lone shots of psych from the mid ‘60s, listeners might find a few tracks that stick out above and beyond the rest of the dusty two to three minute rock songs. A notable inclusion in the Nuggets’ saga was the Music Machine. Contributing “Talk Talk” to the collection, the California based group, centered around Sean Bonniwell, gained some ‘90s fandom as a result of the box set’s reissue.

“Talk Talk” could arguably be the only song mustered by band that really matters at all even as a few other tracks by the Music Machine impacted the charts at the time of release. The only problem with exploring the rest of the band’s catalog subsequent to “Talk Talk” and the first line up’s recordings is the fact that basically the band was led and conceived by Bonniwell.

Beginning in the early ‘60s up there in San Jose, Bonniwell was a part of the folk revival thing that petered out by the middle of the decade. For one reason or another Bonniwell seemed to settle upon the garage and psych after discarding his acoustic guitar. A move to Los Angeles soon found Bonniwell collecting around him the line up that would record the first Music Machine album.

As was the case with most of the albums released during the ‘60s on labels with corporate backing, Turn On, the 1966 debut from the Music Machine was made up of five covers sitting alongside eight Bonniwell originals. Of course, the aforementioned “Talk Talk” charted. But even the Neil Diamond cover of “Cherry” came off as some crazed ravings from the deepest psych dungeons. Regardless of the recorded results, Bonniwell was able to alienate his band-mates who dropped him not too long after the release of Turn On.

Because of the success that his first long player had met with, Bonniwell returned to the studio not too long later with a clutch of new players and a few new songs that he’d penned himself.

1967 saw the release of Bonniwell’s Music Machine. The poorly construed titled was simply crafted in order to capitalize on the band’s previous notoriety while making clear who was in charge. Unfortunately, since the album was rushed to the public as to cash in on the fickle youth market, the release was a cobbled together mess of old singles and new work.

It’s pretty easy to hear which the earlier tracks are as each maintains a stinging urgency absent from the fey work like “The Day Today” which seem to recall some of Bonniwell’s earlier folk tendencies. Even with such let downs, a few corkers still crop up. The poorly titled “Soul Love” ratchets up the pacing and begins with the confusing line “All we need is loneliness.” Bonniwell goes on to explain that if we’ve got “soul love” nothing else matters.

It’s an apt sentiment even if it’s obviously tied to a hippified time and place. Bonniwell meant well, though. And really giving these discs a spin forty some odd years after their release dates finds a clutch of songs that retain its charm even as each is clearly dated.