From what I’ve read since Mayday’s return to the spotlight with its fourth album, Time Machine, bassist Masa has been the one speaking for the band at a lot of public appearances. He’s a good choice, with his boyish smile and enthusiasm. But at the beginning of Mayday’s latest album, its first after a two-year hiatus for school and military service, it’s drummer Ming who says it all. The opening track, “Flying” (thanks to my Singaporean friends for help with these rough translations) opens with futuristic electronic tones and a guitar riff, and then Ming tears off a short, fierce drum roll like he’s been waiting the whole two years to play it.
The song is a wave of unleashed energy and kicks off an album that’s almost a constant flood of invention and newfound musical prowess from the Taiwanese quintet, which hit big with a self-titled album of philosophical-flavored pop hits in 1999 and has consistently matured on every album since. The hiatus, which felt interminable to Mayday’s mostly young fans, cleared the way for the band’s greatest advance yet. Dark lyrics pour out relentlessly over pristine guitar-based soundscapes that range from punkish to majestic. The arrangements and production, which have been a focal point of Mayday’s work since before its first major-label recording sessions, are now on par with anything coming out of any country. Mayday has found its formula at last.
The biggest surprise is that after excelling at Beatle-like melodic gems while alternately plugging away at mostly heavy, messy rock songs for three albums, Mayday has found its greatness in shouted refrains and screeching guitars-upon-guitars. As tempting as it is to hold the best songs on Time Machine up against rockers from the earlier albums, they really have no counterparts anywhere in the band’s released material.
“God of Gamblers” (Track 6) is a standout example. Opening with an elegant splash of Spanish guitar and flamenco-style singing, it takes a sudden turn with a series of drum rolls and leaps into what sound like heavy-metal power chords. But these aren’t just any power chords. They seem to be sampled guitars on top of sampled brass. The assault squeaks, roars, and rumbles forward. The flamenco guitar comes back, then a bridge, shouted over those hard samples, hip-hop style. The mastery of style-blending that singer-songwriter Ashin and band leader Monster demonstrated with “I,” one of the few songs released during the hiatus, was no fluke. That song brought together rap (in two languages), funk, metal, and call-and-response elements in one tight package. It’s one of the band’s best songs, demonstrating that if the Mayday audience were to move on, the futures of these two were secure in their new day jobs as a producers for Rock Records. Now, for most of this new album, they demonstrate a breathtaking level of control over the sound.
That song is no exception. Mayday rocks all over this album and hits its mark nearly every time. "I'm Strong/Armstrong," (Track 4) a short, tight thrasher in the vein of Eighties pop-punk greats like the Ramones and the Replacements, may be the band’s best song. “Don't Bother Me” (Track 7) sounds like the theme from Sixties thriller starring the bushy-haired lads. On the solemn “Armour,” (Track 9) mystery builds with an orchestral introduction to another explosive, shouted chorus with hammering guitars.
But the band doesn’t neglect its softer, Beatles-influenced side completely. In fact, “Nine Ball,” (Track 8) composed by Monster with lamenting lyrics by Ashin, captures the melodic heart of the late Sixties beautifully. “Star of Perseverence,” louder and more contemporary, also advances the “classic” Mayday sound.
However, another break with the past is clearly in evidence throughout the album. Native Chinese-speaking fans have commented on the dark tone of the lyrics this time out. “Quite a different Mayday yet,” said one. Selective translations indicate that’s no exaggeration. Despite the gee-whiz tone that opens the album, “Time Machine” is not a look into the future. The title track, a beautifully crafted and sung chamber ballad near the end of the album, is a song about lost time and wrong paths taken. In soft, measured tones, Ashin tells us, “I’d give up everything for a time machine.” Even the brightest-sounding song on the album (Track 5), an AM-radio-ready ballad that suggests a summer trip to the beach, translates to “But I Know.” What does he know? Love could be gone any moment, everything could be torn apart. Ashin’s lyrics have always been philosophical, but this time the clouds never seem to lift.
It’ll take more translations and input from fans with deeper insight than me to find out where this all maybe coming from, but for Mayday fans, despite Ashin’s gloomy mood, the news is good. Only two songs here are disappointments. “Masquerade,” which appeared first on “Touch Together,” is about as long and awkward as it was then. The closing ballad, “Us (This Moment Always),” is not bad but doesn’t break any new ground; it would have fit in on either of the last two albums. This truly is a new Mayday. It’s hard to know where the band can go from here, but we can dream. Even if they can get back to their old schedule of midsummer album releases, we have about seven months to wait. Time machine, anyone?