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Written by Dan MacIntosh
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Monday, 02 July 2007 |
 Clinic
Visitations
Domino
B
Listening to Clinic brings to mind Radiohead, had they come along during the ‘60s psychedelic heyday. That’s because much of this disc sounds like Thom Yorke leading The Seeds. It’s a place where reckless musical abandon and brainy lyricism somehow coexist. The singing is desperate, but the guitar work is oftentimes garage-dusty and nearly out of control. |
Tracks like “Gideon” and “Children of Kellogg” verge on Jesus and Mary Chain feedback territory, with “Children of Kellogg” the Reid Brothers-ist of all due to a wall of messy sound. Beneath this noisy onslaught, however, one can also hear chimes. It’s as though anything pretty needs to be trampled sonic underfoot. Strangely, a nice, melodic, ‘60s pop string-like part is also tacked on at the end of “Children of Kellogg.” Maybe this is to prove that the band can also play nice, too. In contrast, “Jigsaw Man,” with what may be a melodica part, approximates a less hip-hop-y Gorillaz.
Although JAMC uses guitar feedback as almost an entirely separate instrument, Clinic merely includes this favorite effect for coloring. Another wholly different influence may be Iggy Pop because “Harvest (Within You)” is like a kinder, gentler “Lust For Life,” albeit slowed down considerably. | The very next track, “Tusk,” hearkens back to Pop’s more punkish, Stooges pre-solo artist days, with its hurdling fast rhythm. This CD’s title track is a rock funeral march. The guitars are toned down and then revved up, with the music nearly lurching to a halt at times. The biggest problem with Visitations is how this promising group’s artistic desperation is not always matched by clearly enunciated vocalizing. Granted, this is not as bad as early period R.E.M. Michael Stipe mush-mouth-ism -- but it is close. Instead of vocal mumbles, the singing comes out like clenched-jawed dialogue – as in an old gangster movie. This incommunicado is especially frustrating during “If You Could Read Your Mind,” which is an especially intriguing title. Nevertheless, majestic electric guitars throb like angry heartbeats, making it sound important at least. If only we knew what they are trying to tell us.
This band’s mystique keeps you at shirt sleeve length; no listener wants to get caught up in the emperor’s new clothes syndrome. I mean, what if we get beyond the veil of all this axe feedback and muffled vocals, and find nothing there? For now, at least, we’ll give Clinic the benefit of a doubt; we’ll exhibit childlike faith that verifiable substance is behind it all. for more on Clinic go to clinicvoot.org
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