Will Varley speaks the truth on his latest album, Machines Will Never Learn to Make Mistakes Like Me. Machines are betrayers of everything just, and this is not just a jab at a Tassimo machine which, as of this morning, dribbled so much water, coffee granules, and thick, tar-like goo, it stained the counter. This is a rental, and there is doubt over whether JDE Peet’s will cover the security deposit. Machines cannot learn from their mistakes. Not primitive items like bust-up coffee machines. But we live in uncomfortable times. A time when artificial intelligence can make mistakes. Unchecked, this is dangerous. We must catch ourselves out in the shortcomings of the written word, nobody is doing that for artificial intelligence. Slop of the lowest form. Unlike this Varley release, a quality seventh studio album.
Drunken thoughts and the hope of an idealised future open this latest Varley record. His staggering honesty, the openness and sincerity he sings with, is the key to Machines Will Never Learn to Make Mistakes Like Me. Varley humanises the shortcomings, accepts them as vital experiences which inform the future. What we dream of and what we end up with are vastly different. He hears this out on opening song Long Way Back to Now. Those rising, contemporary tones where the acoustic guitar swells with an orchestra behind it, it is nothing new. But in the hands of Varley, he achieves a tremendously tender set of songs. Intimate achievements where he sings not of a hopeful and bright experience, but of the doubts which settle on the minds of those who want nothing but the best for their loved ones. A countrified twang to Different Man has Varley explore the softer tones of stomp and holler, and it suits well.
Where learning from failure may be an easy topic, it is almost impossible to flesh it out with a satisfying sound worth returning to. Varley manages it with a gentle tone, an ease of performance which works with humility and hyperspecifics. Home Before the World Ends has that to it, an adaptation of the end of days into what it means for an individual. Not a literal heat death or war to put us down, but a personal tragedy, affecting the very fabric of those instrumental depths Varley has fashioned so brilliantly. Straightforward songs like Never Get Tired of Loving You can be read and understood from title alone, but it is the warmth Varley has a knack for creating naturally that works best. Those ends of days begin to overwhelm the bright future Varley wrote of at the start of Machines Will Never Learn to Make Mistakes Like Me. We are, indeed, in the end times. That much has been clear.
But living in this fear of dying light is no way to exist. Despite the fear, the constant reservation over what the future may hold, Varley tells, not asks, but tells his listeners to continue living. Varley has written an album where he hopes a listener realises their self-worth. That is no small order, and half the battle is finding an appropriate instrumental structure. He nails it, that and the breezy instrumental style, which becomes a wonderful feature of this new album. It may be the end of the world around us, but it is not the death of a personal one. We must make our peace, Varley says, before it is too late. His sincerity is what carries this open-hearted message. A song like Venus Returns gets to the core of this, the necessity there is to come to terms with the world around us and all its rot. Machines Will Never Learn to Make Mistakes Like Me has all the acoustic passions expected, and its thrills come from the sensitive side.
