Jam Room
Maryland’s Clutch swings heavy in Hollywood
A band that has survived being bobbled by at least five record companies, which has surmounted being labeled as grunge, funk-metal, and nü-metal, and which has no gimmick other than loud grooves and witty lyrics, Clutch is truly an anomaly on the scene. Which only makes the Maryland-based group’s continued success – big crowds turned up to see it play Thursday, March 13, at the Music Box @ Henry Fonda Theatre – that much more unique. Up first was Virginia’s bludgeoning Hex Machine, clearly taking on the mantle of all those Amphetamine Reptile Records groups from the last decade (i.e. Melvins, Unsane, etc.) with its sludgy sludgeness. Second on the bill was Southern rockers Maylene and the Sons of Disaster, which twinned its lead guitars à la Skynyrd but instead of smooth, came off as raw as Corrosion of Conformity’s 90-proof rawk. And the showcase spot went to Bloomington, Indiana’s Murder by Death; balladeers of all things gothic and spooky, set to a country-punk beat with an accompanying cello, the four-piece’s Nick Cave-influenced sound went down well to an engaged audience. In the 30 minutes before the headliner took the stage, the floor and balcony began to swell; guess folks knew it was time for the hoedown to begin. Smoke from various “jazz cigarettes” began to spurt up hither and yon, and the eyes of security guards began to frantically scan everywhere for suspicious puffage. Reduced to the group’s original four-piece, due to a sabbatical from organist Mick Schauer, Clutch popped the question to the crowd right from the off. “Hands up! Who wants to rock?” howled bearded, slightly-rumpled frontman Neil Fallon in the opening number. With plenty of takers, the group was off, running and, quite often, in full-blown stampede mode. While not a “jam band” per se, in the live setting Clutch has always tried to let the music pull them in improvisational directions. Deft guitarist Tim Sult lets his axe split his band’s rock into shards of funk and blues, but Sult could only succeed in this mission with a mighty rhythm section at his side, and Clutch’s is the envy of many a group. Few drummers give this kind of music the same heft and swing that the nimble Jean-Paul Gaster does from behind his sparse kit. Lanky anchor Dan Maines, a fluid bassist with outstanding chops, stays rooted to the floor like the late John Entwistle, and, like the great Ox, Maines thumped out bass lines that had the Fonda’s foundation shifting. When Fallon grabbed a cowbell and added – yes! – more cowbell to Gaster’s bopping beat, the resulting go-go syncopation crunched as hard as a Trouble Funk groove. There are few lyricists like Fallon, who roars out free-floating anachronisms and allusions to people, places, and things with a surreal and humorous flair: “So you say you want to go to Heaven/Well I got the plans/It walks like the Sasquatch/And it breeds like Kubla Khan” (from “Texan Book of the Dead”). Clutch’s eighth album, last year’s From Beale Street to Oblivion, is one of the band’s strongest, as evidenced by the smattering of songs aired tonight. But the group seemed keen to showcase 1998’s The Elephant Riders this evening, with no less than half of the album performed for loyal long-timers. (Clutch’s set changes every night, depending on which member of the band gets to serve as pilot.) Through it all, Fallon was in fine, bellowing form. The crowd was eager to do the singing for him, chanting along to the grim, flag-draped-coffin chorus of his 2004 antiwar anthem, “The Mob Goes Wild”: “Twenty-one guns, box made of pine/Letter from the government sealed and signed/Delivered Federal Express on your mother’s doorstep ….” Never known fer speechifyin’, Fallon simply acknowledged his audience’s enthusiasm by saying, “You guys might as well write off Friday.” After an appropriately noisy “Burning Beard,” Clutch returned for a greatly demanded encore, with the ZZ Top-like shuffle of “Electric Worry” and “One Eye Dollar” wrapping up a rousing 90-minute set. Patrons quickly headed for the doors and Hollywood Boulevard’s cool night air. No need for an after-party tonight; this show was shindig enough.
Published: 03/19/2008
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