Novatore and C-Lance Build a Machine Out of Work, Death and Obsession on Machines
Producer: C-Lance
Release date: September 2, 2026
Tracks: 10
Format: Advance Album Spotlight
I was fortunate enough to get an advance copy of Machines before its September 2 release, and one of the first things that stood out was how complete the pairing between Novatore and C-Lance feels. C-Lance handles the production across the entire album, giving the record a consistent sonic foundation while Novatore moves between battle rap, death anxiety, film obsession, horror imagery, work ethic, violence, self-doubt, and eventually a surprisingly humble meditation on creativity.
C-Lance has spent years developing a recognizable place within darker underground hip-hop. He has worked with artists including Vinnie Paz, Jedi Mind Tricks, R.A. the Rugged Man, Madchild, Rittz, and others, and darkness has long been a natural part of his production. In older interviews, C-Lance has talked about his love of horror movies, his attraction to the darker side of music, and influences that extend beyond hip-hop into metal and obscure music from around the world.
That makes him an especially natural fit for Novatore. Machines does not simply need hard beats. It needs atmosphere. Machines, metal, horror, death, movies, violence, obsession, and something almost supernatural repeatedly surface in Novatore's writing, and having C-Lance behind the entire album makes those ideas feel like they belong to the same world.
The album also brings in Copywrite, Merkules, A.M. Early Morning, and Goretex, while Tone Spliff and Denno Gee contribute cuts at different points across the record.
The intro immediately establishes the machinery theme with what sounds like an old transmission. A man explains that what we are hearing is a person communicating with a machine, followed by a machine communicating with another machine. The sample appears to come from AT&T's 1961 promotional film Challenge of Change, where essentially the same statement introduces a demonstration of machine communication.
It is an effective way to begin because Machines gradually makes the word mean more than technology.
A machine can be a worker. A weapon. A body trained through repetition. An artist who refuses to stop producing. A system that keeps moving after emotion should have slowed it down.
And by the final track, communication itself becomes the point again.
Turning Himself Into the Weapon
“Metal Hands”
“Metal Hands” establishes one of the album's most important ideas immediately.
Novatore spends much of the song in familiar combat mode. MMA references, blacksmith imagery, fighting-game violence, guillotines, vampires, and exaggerated physical threats pile on top of each other. The metal hands are fists, but they are also the first real image of the human body becoming machinery.
The more interesting material appears underneath the violence.
The hook is built around demanding more from himself than other people do, and the second verse admits that he may never fill a stadium. That realization does not cause him to lower the goal. He immediately follows it by continuing to chase more and promising to keep doing this until his heart stops.
That gets closer to what Machines is really about.
The machine is not somebody incapable of feeling. It is somebody who has decided that feeling tired, discouraged, overlooked, or realistic about the odds is still not enough reason to stop.
Novatore even works hard-drive and archive imagery into the closing section, making the mechanical language literal without abandoning the human motivation behind it.
Selling Everything Except the Soul
“Apple Pie”
“Apple Pie” is Novatore in pure attack mode.
There is not much interest here in vulnerability or explanation. This is about presence, independence, and reminding other rappers that he believes he belongs in the room whether the larger industry acknowledges it or not.
One of the stronger threads is his rejection of the major-label fantasy. He positions himself against the idea of selling his soul for wider acceptance, while still talking about moving units, commanding stages, and building something people want to consume.
That contradiction matters.
Novatore is not pretending he does not want people listening. He clearly does. He wants the audience, the respect, the sales, and the recognition. What he rejects is the idea that those things are worth becoming somebody else to obtain.
The rest is deliberately obnoxious battle rap. Apocalypse imagery, gasoline, guns, sex jokes, insults, and the closing reminder that this is Novatore rather than some sanitized commercial substitute.
When Death Stops Being an Aesthetic
“Caskets”
Then Machines changes completely.
“Caskets” is the emotional center of the album because death stops being something Novatore threatens other rappers with and becomes something he is genuinely afraid of.
The opening verse traces that fear back to losing his cousin when he was 19. Phone calls at strange hours trigger anxiety because bad news has already taught him what a phone can deliver. He describes growing up anticipating death, worrying about who will disappear next, and allowing that fear to affect the way he loves people who are still here.
That last part keeps the song from becoming completely hopeless. Fear of loss has made him more aware of the people he could lose.
But there is no inspirational resolution waiting around the corner.
The second verse returns to the parking lot outside a funeral, the body in the casket, sleepless nights, unwanted mental images, and the question of whether anything exists after death. Novatore says he does not believe in heaven, yet still hopes there is something beyond this. Then comes the harder possibility. What if there is not?
The song is really about what happens when grief teaches your brain to anticipate the next grief.
That is different from simply being afraid of dying. Novatore is afraid of surviving long enough to repeatedly watch other people die.
On an album filled with threats, horror imagery, weapons, and death, “Caskets” forces the listener to reconsider all of that language. The guy who can casually put somebody in a coffin in one song is haunted by the reality of seeing someone he loves inside one in another.
That contradiction gives the album considerably more depth.
Work Until the Human Becomes Mechanical
“Machines”
The title track finally defines the album's central metaphor.
For Novatore, being a machine is largely about labor.
His verse is filled with work language. Hours, overtime, pulling weight, skilled labor, workforces, dirty hands, stamina, and the refusal to stop simply because somebody else already has.
That makes the title more interesting than a generic futuristic concept.
Novatore is not presenting himself as emotionless. “Caskets” makes that impossible anyway. He is presenting himself as relentless.
The machine is the part of him that keeps producing after disappointment, fatigue, age, limited recognition, and every practical reason to reconsider how much effort this deserves.
That also connects directly back to “Metal Hands.” Both songs are built around extreme self-demand. The violence works almost like metaphorical decoration around a much simpler idea.
Nobody is going to work harder on Novatore's career than Novatore.
Machines is really about what happens when work ethic becomes identity.
Raised by the Television
“Terminator 91”
“Terminator 91” might be the most revealing song on the album in a completely different way.
There is almost no traditional battle-rap premise needed because Novatore is simply talking about something he loves: movies.
He traces his taste through Humphrey Bogart, Mickey Rourke, Clive Barker, John Carpenter, Stephen King, horror films, thrillers, noir, and a long list of movies ranging across decades. He specifically describes being drawn toward films from the 1970s through the mid-1990s and credits horror as the genre that defined him.
The key idea is that he was “raised by the television.”
That explains quite a bit about the rest of Novatore's writing. The exaggerated violence, villains, monsters, action scenes, satanic imagery, and references to characters or actors do not feel randomly collected when you hear “Terminator 91.” They come from somebody who has spent years absorbing film language and allowing it to become part of his rap vocabulary.
The second verse is even better because it does not pretend he has encyclopedic knowledge. He admits there are classics he somehow took decades to watch and closes by joking that despite consuming more films than most people, his memory is too bad for him to call himself a movie buff.
That self-deprecation helps. It makes “Terminator 91” feel less like somebody listing references to prove what he knows and more like somebody describing how he actually spends his time.
Pulling the Mask Off Fake Gangsters
“Devil in the Pale Moon”
“Devil in the Pale Moon” brings the horror and movie language right back into battle rap.
Novatore fills the first verse with rosaries, black magic, druids, knives, drugs, and violent threats, but the actual target becomes clearer in the second verse.
This is really a song about rap cosplay.
He goes after suburban rappers manufacturing criminal identities, reducing one fictional tough guy to BB guns, cul-de-sacs, a father who is a cop, bad drug deals, and the kind of gangster persona that collapses the second it enters the wrong environment.
The humor is important because Novatore is not merely saying, “I am tougher than you.” He is making the fake persona look embarrassing.
That has always been one of the more effective approaches to battle rap. Humiliation can do more damage than another generic threat.
The title also fits the film obsession running through the record. The pale-moon imagery immediately carries cinematic associations, and Novatore turns that kind of villain language into a hook about the difference between the danger somebody performs and the life somebody actually knows.
Living Inside the Movie
“Action Stars”
If “Terminator 91” is Novatore talking about being raised by movies, “Action Stars” is him stepping inside one.
The imagery is deliberately ridiculous in the best way. Gunfire from cars. Grenade pins. Crashes. Weapons. No stunt doubles. The entire song treats rap competition like an action sequence that has abandoned any concern for realism.
But tucked inside all of that is one line that changes the character slightly:
“I'm just a fucking man, don't look up to me”
That is an interesting admission in the middle of a song where he is otherwise constructing himself as nearly impossible to kill.
Novatore understands the separation between the rap persona and the actual person.
The action star is larger than life. The man playing him is not.
That makes “Action Stars” and “Terminator 91” useful companion pieces. One is about the person who spent years watching movies. The other is about taking all those years of cinematic language and using them to build a rap character.
Black Metal Without Leaving Hip-Hop
“Lords of Chaos”
“Lords of Chaos” barely hides what it wants to be.
Novatore calls what he is doing “the rap version of some black metal,” and everything surrounding that declaration supports it.
Corpse paint, inverted crosses, satanic rituals, churches burning, mass panic, darkness, violence, and the image of Novatore sitting on a throne while the world collapses around him all push toward the aesthetics of extreme metal without abandoning hardcore hip-hop.
This is also where the Novatore and C-Lance pairing makes even more sense. C-Lance has spoken about his attraction to darker music and his interest in metal, while Novatore is openly importing extreme-metal imagery into his rap writing.
The result sits comfortably in that overlap between underground hip-hop, horror, and extreme music without needing to stop being rap in order to get there.
The Artist as Receiver
“Message from Beyond”
Then Novatore ends the album by dismantling some of the ego he spent the previous songs building.
“Message from Beyond” is about creativity, but Novatore refuses to describe creativity as ownership.
He calls himself a vessel.
Ideas arrive through him. He receives them, shapes them, and communicates them, but he questions whether he really created them in the first place. Sometimes the message arrives and the writing happens. Sometimes it does not, and forcing it accomplishes nothing.
That is a surprisingly humble position for an album containing this much competitive rap.
Novatore spends song after song asserting skill, work ethic, superiority, toughness, and experience. Then the closer tells the artist to remember that he is still only the messenger and warns against becoming arrogant enough to mistake receiving inspiration for being a god.
But humility does not mean passivity.
The second verse also emphasizes time and repetition. He talks about putting in thousands of hours and spending roughly a decade with the pen before certain things became clear.
That brings the album back to work.
Talent might arrive as a gift. Knowing what to do with it still takes years.
And this is where the album's intro becomes more interesting.
Machines begins with communication between man and machine, then machine and machine.
It ends with Novatore describing himself as another kind of receiver and transmitter.
Something arrives from somewhere beyond him. He receives it. He processes it. Then he sends it back out.
The machine metaphor has come full circle.
Final Thoughts
Machines works best to me as a thematic concept album rather than a narrative one.
There is no single storyline moving from track one through track ten, but the central idea keeps changing shape throughout the record.
Machines appear literally and metaphorically.
There are metal hands, hard drives, transmissions, engines, weapons, labor, overtime, cinema, repetitive practice, and the idea of the human body becoming something capable of continuing long after motivation alone should have disappeared.
But the best moments happen when Novatore shows what the machine cannot eliminate.
“Caskets” is grief and fear breaking through the armor.
“Terminator 91” is genuine enthusiasm without the need for intimidation.
“Action Stars” briefly separates the larger-than-life performer from the ordinary man underneath him.
“Message from Beyond” takes an artist who has spent much of the album telling you how good he is and ends by suggesting that the best ideas might not fully belong to him at all.
That tension is what keeps Machines from becoming an album of one-dimensional toughness.
Novatore can write hardcore rap without pretending he is invulnerable.
He can obsess over work ethic while admitting there are things effort cannot control.
He can surround himself with death imagery and still be terrified of death.
He can make himself into a machine while repeatedly reminding us that there is still a human being inside it.
C-Lance is a major reason the album holds together. Having one producer behind the entire record gives Machines a unified foundation, and his longstanding attraction to darker music and horror makes him an almost natural fit for Novatore's world.
The guest list is also strong without overwhelming the project. Copywrite, Merkules, A.M. Early Morning, and Goretex appear across the album, with Tone Spliff and Denno Gee contributing cuts. The final mix and master was handled by Nato at Up in Arms Studios, following recording and premixing by Jeff Arenson at Classick Studios.
The album is really about repetition turning into identity.
Keep working.
Keep watching.
Keep creating.
Keep moving after grief.
Keep moving after disappointment.
Keep moving when the audience is smaller than you hoped.
Do it long enough and eventually the distinction between the man and the machine starts getting difficult to see.
Machines releases September 2, 2026. “Apple Pie” and “Machines” are currently available ahead of the full release, and the album is available for pre-order through Infamous Crew.
