Fine Machines, the third full album from the solo project Saves the Witch (STW), led by multi-instrumentalist Eric Maynes, is a sonic meditation on the human experience. Drawing from post-rock, post-metal, art rock, and lofi elements, this instrumental album delves into themes of connection, mortality, and existential introspection. Its genre-blending approach and use of dynamic contrast, ranging from slow and serene to intensely heavy, invite a deeply spiritual and philosophical reflection on life’s most profound questions.
Opening with shimmering guitar soundscapes, I’m Not Ready serves as an ethereal introduction to STW’s vast sonic universe. The glistening, almost cosmic textures offer us a chance to contemplate the infinite, as the expansive sound washes over us. This track’s meditative quality evokes a state of spiritual readiness – a moment of quiet before embarking on the journey that is the album. It is a reminder that we often confront existential questions before we feel prepared to face them, both philosophically and spiritually.
Inspired by the “Miracle on the Hudson,” Abeam the Intrepid takes on an existential tone. The subtle rising frequency at the start feels like entering a new dimension, a metaphor for life’s unexpected twists that challenge our control and understanding. As the track transitions into high-octane industrial energy, it echoes the jarring nature of life-changing moments. The shift between calm and chaos mirrors the fragility of existence – one moment serene, the next overwhelming – embodying the dance between fate and free will. The interplay between melody and intensity evokes a sense of surrender to the universe’s forces.
This leads us to She Dances with Knives, which brings in more organic and syncopated percussion, reminiscent of the unpredictability of a spiritual journey. The intricate guitar work feels like a metaphor for navigating life’s sharp edges, with each note evoking both grace and danger. As the track morphs into metal-adjacent energy, it speaks to the intensity of inner battles, where the soul dances with darkness and light in a rhythmic ebb and flow. The return to the original percussion suggests the cyclical nature of these struggles, reminding us that life is both a continuous process and a return to familiar spiritual ground.
Opening with a jarring, cerebral energy, We Are the Virus captures the discordance of the modern world. Philosophically, it feels like a reflection on humanity’s impact on the planet – a commentary on the virus-like qualities of our presence. The rhythmic guitar work channels a primal energy, as if connecting listeners to the raw forces of nature. It invites reflection on the interconnectedness of all living things, echoing the album’s ethos of unity and acceptance while acknowledging humanity’s sometimes destructive role in the greater ecosystem.
With serene and glistening guitar work, Once Upon a Bomb Shelter feels like a return to innocence after chaos. The calm after the storm, it evokes themes of refuge and survival, suggesting that even in the darkest times, there is a place within us where peace can be found. The harmonic nuances draw us into a space of contemplation, offering solace and spiritual healing. This track asks us to consider the sanctuaries we create for ourselves and whether we can find peace even in the most unlikely places.
A more melodic and reflective track, The Hill We Die On raises questions about personal convictions and the spiritual cost of the battles we choose to fight. The alternative rock guitar moments provide emotional weight, as if underscoring the gravity of these choices. It speaks to the philosophical idea of martyrdom – not in the literal sense, but in the sacrifices we make for our beliefs, and whether they truly serve a higher purpose or are simply the result of ego.
Next up is Queen City, which feels like a celebration of connection, both with a physical place (Charlotte, NC) and a sense of belonging. The reverbed guitar creates an immersive sound universe, where we can lose ourselves in the moment. The more industrial sound that erupts two-thirds in serves as a reminder that even in places of comfort, there is an underlying tension between peace and chaos. This duality invites us to reflect on how we anchor ourselves to both community and individuality, finding spiritual grounding in the familiar while acknowledging the undercurrents of change.
Opening with a textured, cinematic sound, It’s Dangerous to Go Alone, Take Me feels like an ode to companionship on the spiritual path. The peaceful, serene vibe hints at the importance of shared journeys, whether with another person, a higher power, or a sense of purpose. The title itself speaks to the vulnerability of walking life’s path alone, and the need for spiritual or emotional support. There is a quiet, understated wisdom in this track, reminding us that the journey is as important as the destination, and that it’s okay to lean on others along the way.
Your God Is Dead is both meditative and provocative, challenging us to confront the idea of mortality and the demise of traditional belief systems. The poetic guitar performance, which feels like a spiritual ascension, suggests a search for meaning beyond dogma. In this contemplative space, we are invited to transcend organized religion and explore more personal, existential understandings of divinity. The track resonates with the philosophy of postmodern spirituality, where the death of one god might lead to the birth of a deeper, more individualized faith.
This leads us to Bring Me to the Everdoor is the only vocal track on the album, this song speaks to the ultimate surrender – death, and coming to terms with it. With atmospheric grunge-adjacent tones and 80s vibes, it feels like a poignant reflection on life’s final moments. The expansive and subtle soundscape offers a sense of peace, as though crossing into the afterlife is not an end but a transition. The anthemic crescendo reflects the emotional intensity of that final passage, where all earthly concerns fall away, and the soul merges with the infinite.
The instrumental version of the track strips away the vocals, allowing the music itself to convey the transcendental message. It serves as a serene conclusion to the album, offering space for reflection, much like a meditation on the inevitability of life’s end and the peace that comes with acceptance.
Fine Machines is a spiritual journey, and through its dynamic contrasts and philosophical themes, Saves the Witch invites us to reflect on life’s profound questions: connection, mortality, and the search for meaning in a chaotic world. Eric Maynes’ masterful blending of genres and sounds creates a deeply immersive, meditative experience. We have added some of the track to our New Music Spotlight playlist and our TIMELESS playlist, whilst we continue to explore Saves the Witch‘s wider discography, including the 2021 album, Elements of Alchemy.