Riffs? These West-Virginians have many
No-one’s on such a backwards-looking quest for inspiration as scuzzy old West Virginians Clutch. But what sets this particular
school of Sabbath-fetish, guitar-toting killer whales apart from their many stoner peers is a
fourth album of sheer visceral exhilaration, top frazzled tunes and an arsenal of fiercely intelligent and acidic witticisms.
Like kindred spirits Queens
Of The Stone Age or Spirit Caravan (whose guitarist Scott Weinrich guests here), these lumpen retro-riven old-skoolies with their twiddlesome solos are well aware of their immediate postmodern surroundings. Here, Neil Fallon is to be found growling the likes of “The merry wives of Windsor I swapped for cans of Spam/While sipping fine Darjeeling with an Englishman”.
Indeed, a cursory browse through Fallon’s lyrical canon reveals the mindset of a man who imbues the darkness, extended metaphor and psychedelic nut-scapery of his forbears with cynical chides and wry humour. Couple that with the modernised Blues Explosion funk beats of ‘Red Horse Rainbow’ or new single ‘Pure Rock Fury”s, erm, pure rock fury and everything begins to make glorious sense. Even if you do need the [I]Fantasia Folklore Thesaurus [/I]to decipher it.