The Wytches Tune Into the Machine Age on Talking Machine

The Wytches are back, louder, heavier, and more unpredictable than ever. Announcing their new album Talking Machine (out 10th October via Alcopop! Records) alongside the blistering new single “Black Ice”, the Brighton-formed trio are pushing their raw garage-rock roots into darker, stranger terrain.

Inspired by the untamed heaviness of ’60s pop and garage records, Talking Machine takes its name from Thomas Edison’s nickname for the gramophone—a nod to the uneasy relationship between technology and the arts that feels especially urgent in the AI era. Recorded live at Tilehouse Studios with long-time collaborator Luke Oldfield, the album fuses feral riffs, mechanical textures, and reflective songwriting into a body of work that feels both menacing and intimate.

We caught up with vocalist/guitarist Kristian Bell to talk about Black Ice, the machine-age paranoia behind Talking Machine, and why The Wytches will never stop embracing extremes.

“Black Ice” was inspired by the raw heaviness of ’60s records like The Kinks’ “Till The End Of The Day.” What drew you to that era’s sound, and how did you go about capturing that same punch in the studio?

We’ve always loved ’60s garage music—it’s all over our first album. But I started realising how wild and heavy some of the pop music of the late ’50s and ’60s was too. Pretty much everything from that time was recorded live with every instrument bleeding into one another. It creates this thick and unaltered sound. So we did this one live and didn’t pay too much attention to isolating the instruments.

The album title Talking Machine comes from Thomas Edison’s nickname for the gramophone, and ties into themes of technology disrupting the arts. How did that concept shape the record’s lyrical or sonic direction?

I had the album title before we went to record it so we were thinking about how we could make certain songs “feel mechanical” without it sounding like industrial metal. We were putting my voice through a Lesley cabinet, which is a fast rotating speaker. It creates this washy choral sound but sometimes it can sound kind of dark and menacing. It’s layered under my normal voice for a lot of the album. It’s this weird manufactured and unintelligible sound that seemed quite fitting.

Your music has always balanced heavy, unrelenting riffs with moments of reflection. How did you push or refine that dynamic on this new album?

We’ve always been conscious that the two extremes of soft and heavy could potentially put people off, but we embraced it on this album. I was listening to Portishead’s third album—it has a beautiful ukulele ballad that is immediately followed by an industrial techno track. It helped me realise it’s fine to weave in and out of styles and have all these abrupt changes going on, as long as it’s good.

You recorded Talking Machine with Luke Oldfield at Tilehouse Studios. What was it about that space and collaboration that brought out the best in these songs?

We’ve worked with Luke on all of our albums and he’s a very familiar friend now. For us it’s important to feel comfortable with the person who we’re recording with, to know everyone’s on the same page with the music. I know that some producers’ method is to keep you on your toes and push for greatness, but we’ve tried that and it never worked. Tilehouse is like our happy place and we get good results when we’re in good spirits.

With influences from Bob Dylan to Elliott Smith and Alex Chilton, your work bridges gritty rock energy with classic songwriting craft. How do you keep those two worlds in balance without losing your edge?

Those guys are all great examples of musicians who could write universal songs while keeping their personality in there. I’m trying to do that too. I was brought up with heavy rock music so it’s as important to me as the classic songwriter stuff. It just feels right for me to want to try and marry the two sounds.