Dino DiMuro’s Machine is one of those rare albums that’s as fun to describe as it is to listen to—and that’s saying something, because it’s an absolute joyride.
The album kicks off with “The Black Orchestra Part One,” a track built entirely on drum machine—a fitting prologue for a record that puts mechanical beats front and center. But just when you think you’re settling into a groove, DiMuro pivots to piano explorations, weaving loveable oddball chord structures that are as captivating as they are unpredictable. It’s here, in these moments scattered across the album, that Machine unexpectedly grabs hold—DiMuro’s playing is wild, alive, and weirdly beautiful.
But make no mistake: this is unmistakably DiMuro territory. Fans will recognize his characteristic twists and turns, the restless changes in space and mood, the playful chaos. Tracks like “Elmwood’s Irish Trip” and “The Charming Man” are DiMuro at his best—gleefully warping genre, tone, and expectation, while “Makin’ Fun of Everyone” reintroduces the banjo alongside a kitchen sink of sound effects and familiar character voices. Longtime listeners will probably catch a few returning personalities from DiMuro’s cassette-era days.
The album’s harmonies also stand out, with guest vocalists adding fresh textures and a surprising warmth. “Grandpa’s Dark Drawers” (let’s not dwell on the title) shifts gears into an instrumental jazz-meets-Zappa detour, complete with 70’s-tinged touches that keep things loose and surprising. It’s one of many changeups that make Machine feel like a kaleidoscopic, mixtape-like experience.
“A Note To Calloway” taps into DiMuro’s gift for blending conversational lyricism with surreal soundplay, while “Skip’s Aquarium” floats by on a Casio beat, layered arpeggios, and electronic guitar lines that shimmer like lo-fi magic.
As the artist himself puts it, this album is an intentional embrace of the drum machine—a tool often maligned or dismissed, especially in the home-taper world DiMuro has long championed. But rather than treating it as a limitation, DiMuro uses it as a launchpad for some of his most inspired work. The album’s programmed beats provide a steady foundation, but what blossoms on top is anything but mechanical: it’s witty, emotional, disorienting, and ultimately human.
At its core, Machine isn’t just about loops and samples—it’s about transformation. DiMuro bends his tools into new shapes, using repetition not as a crutch, but as a way to unlock fresh creative energy. The result is an album that’s both playful and profound, a testament to an artist who’s still pushing himself, still evolving, and still having a hell of a lot of fun doing it.
For fans of DiMuro’s past work—or anyone who loves their music a little messy, a little mischievous, and endlessly inventive—Machine is essential listening.
Highly recommended.
Find the album at: https://dinodimuro1.bandcamp.com/album/machine
