You can tell that this isn't quite a normal singer/songwriter album by Frankie's list of instruments in the liner notes. It reads: "Vocals, guitars, banjo, trumpet, euphonium, piano, harmonium, harmonica, and stuff. It was all my fault, I admit it." You're not just getting another boring dose of strumming and singing here, nor are you getting a full-on disc of mope. Frankie has a sense of humor, a big box of different instruments and, as the title mentions, a lot of friends. It is at its heart a singer/songwriter disc -- there are enough plodding melodramatic acoustic numbers with vague lyrics of heartbreak to make certain of that -- but it often goes beyond that definition. The occasional use of what sounds like computerized bleeping makes ...and Friends the first example I've heard of millennial technology (call it the Radiohead effect) in the singer/songwriter format. In fact, of the seventeen tracks here, only half favor the strum-and-sing folk formula. The rest are mostly instrumental forays featuring any combination of the instruments listed above, with various guest performance from the friends. They achieve some rather interesting moments, as with the horns on the very dance-floor-friendly "The French Guy I & II" or the utterly weird underwater-sounding voice sample mixed with organ on the exploration into obsessive numerology "1:07".

Frankie explains, "I've been obsessed by a number... everything started to end in 07... So here we have a song called 1:07 that is one minute seven seconds long." That quote comes not from the liner notes, but from the multimedia portion of the CD. It's an "enhanced" disc that offers live clips, lyrics, and other goodies accessible from your computer.

Frankie might be of one of the oldest types of musicians around, but he's clearly not afraid of technology and should be applauded for attempting to use technology to help express himself more fully rather than running from it or cursing it. Including the lyrics is a nice touch as well, because Frankie is a less than stellar elocutionist. Perhaps it's his British accent befuddling my Yankee ears, but I had a very difficult time deciphering the lyrics. Reading them gave me a better sense of the pain and humor Frankie is trying to convey, though there aren't many lines that shine with originality -- except for maybe the unlikely rhyming of "historian" and "crematorium" in "Burning the Bodies".

Look closely through the enhanced materials and you'll also find self-deprecating asides. On the lyrics page, before the second-to-last song, Frankie adds, "If you have also got this far --congratulations. I am a stuck record sometimes." It's true, but he's charming enough to get away with it.

J. Berk

Splendid Ezine December 2002

Gentle, melodic songs from Frankie Albert and his many friends. slightly folky, slightly spacey, very good! will appeal to fans of James Yorkston, the Fence Collective, Adem & Jim O'Rourke

Rough Trade.com November 2002

The rain patters rhythmically against the window; warm, slightly stuffy regurgitated air pumps around the room and the murky light filtering apprehensively through the window competes against the yellow of artificial indoor lamps. Perched frustratedly on his computer chair, a man slumps lazily over a battered, worn out old acoustic guitar, questioningly plucking the strings. He softly brainstorms and every now and then, ignites with a sudden gush of inspiration. Backed by the comforting sound of his guitar, he begins to sing. Improvised songs, self-questioning, simple wonderings; some sense made of a jumbled mind. Singing his troubles away ‘Frances Albert Machine and Friends’, a cd-shaped scrapbook of thoughts, ideas, feelings and sounds cut straight from the heart and mind of a thirty-something, presumably many times heart-broken, devoted father; Rob Frankie. 17 poignant musical statements experimenting, testing and sampling everything imaginable - from equatorial-style world music and Cooper Temple Clause-esque computer/keyboard generated bleepy twiddley noises - to the sounds of the local indoor swimming pool and variations on the human voice.

Sounds pretty random and peculiar, right? So now you’re expecting some disjointed tuneless mess. But exactly that is the clever thing about this album. Tied together and trade-marked with those rainy day, personal, subtle ponderings, Frankie Machine captures that sincere, uplifting and touching melodic sound that is predominantly done so well by female artists [e.g. Gemma Hayes] And then combines it discreetly with all his other influences and ideas, somehow explaining them and making it all seem logical.

This album is unique, intelligent, inspiring, and yet it still presents all the sing-a-long drive-time tunes you may desire. Admittedly, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, and you won’t be jumping around the room practising your rock-star poses by the end, but as far as creative, artistic and fascinating albums go, this one really is something precious

Drowned In Sound October 2002

If beauty comes in many different guises, then this is beauty as a curled up ball of introspective darkness, with a world-weary smile of resignation. Gentle acoustic guitars back tales of lost love, wasted opportunities and masturbation, accounts that any man of any age can relate to, if they're honest enough.

F.A.M.A.F is a candid, almost queasy documentation of love gone sour and the way life throws shit and how it sometimes sticks. Although the subject matter is fairly dour, there is a mischievous heart to its melancholy, which give the songs an endearing quality and prevents them becoming simply morose. There is a feeling of the underdog trying to work through his failures in a methodical fashion and each song brings an all too familiar tale of heartbreak. Burning The Bodies tells of a missed opportunity and how "I could have made her happy, if she hadn't been so happy already" and you can picture a man staring into space, cursing his luck. On The Black Map, we are told " I thought about you so hard, my arm began to ache" and it is this loveable loser thread shuffling sadly through this album, that makes it such an overlooked gem. Each fully formed song is followed with ambient noise, squelchy fucking noises or plain bizarre, unspecific weirdness for a few seconds and it results in seventeen tracks of exquisite hushed splendour. 7/10

Reviewed By Mark Mason 20th of October 2002

No Ripcord Webzine. October 2002