Review Summary: Y’all want a mantra?
While Clutch’s 1995 self-titled album is rightfully hailed among the trailblazers in stoner rock, I find myself listening to it more like an alternate path that rap metal could’ve taken. It’s not too far off the mark considering the blend of post-hardcore and funk rock seen on their 1993 debut, but the execution dials back the aggression in favor of emphasizing the grooves and drawing out the structures. It’s almost like what would if Rage Against The Machine smoked some pot, found their Jimi Hendrix records, and managed to calm the *** down already.
This is reinforced by how the unorthodox the band’s dynamic is by stoner rock standards. Many of the riffs are shaped by Dan Maines’ bass with the guitarist Tim Sult’s role coming through those pounding segments and spaced out ventures. Jean-Paul Gaster’s drums bring a sturdy foundation capable of loosening up with fills competing for the space. The vocals also see Neil Fallon’s signature charisma truly taking form amidst the hollers, croons, and rhythmic cadences.
The two-part “Big News” provides the album’s mission statement in welcoming fashion. The mood is jubilant yet laid beck as the bass-driven rhythm and noodling guitars drift along like an especially chilled out parade as the vocals call out with platitudes and cheeky pirate vocalizing. But just as the mood risks getting too goofy or played out, the cranked up distortion on the second part elevates it for one of the genre’s most iconic openers.
“Rock N’ Roll Outlaw” keeps the momentum going with its own heavy thrust coming into play and the vocals truly become the center of attention. The spaces left open by the loose grooves makes a perfect contrast for the vocals to really lean into the storytelling. Tracks like “Escape From The Prison Planet” and “I Have The Body of John Wilkes Booth” are where the combination truly hits its stride.
A more mellow disposition also encourages Clutch’s cheeky side even when their aggro roots come out to play. “Texas Book Of The Dead” and “Animal Farm” are borderline parodies of “A Shotgun Named Marcus,” those bum rush surges dispensing the dudebro posturing in favor of spouting off nursery rhymes and one-liners aiming for utter absurdity. It’s debatable as to whether the dudebros got the memo but I do like that winking swagger put to classic blues rock on “Tight Like That.”
Even when the album hits another genre peak with “Spacegrass,” it only plays up the idiosyncrasies. One truly feels immersed in a galactic atmosphere as the bass provides a murky overcast while the drums cutting out during the verses really sells that feeling of a Dodge Swinger floating through space. The vocals are whispered like calls to Mission Control and the guitars jumping from warbling circuitry to propulsive fuzz is like kicking the motor up for a more controlled cruise.
So much happening throughout the album risks mounting exhaustion. But just when you think the album could succumb, the last couple songs end the album as it began. “7 Jam” may not have the same bombast as “Big News,” but there’s something reassuring about another loose rhythm guiding us on. By the time the guitars take over for the closing “Tim Sult Vs The Grays,” the circus has left town and one finds the journey is the destination.
This album ***ing rules. It stands alongside the best from stoner rock titans like Sleep and Kyuss while gelling with a more easygoing vision of alt-metal like Soundgarden, White Zombie, and Faith No More. I dare say it makes a strong case for being one of the nineties rock albums overall. Put it on your next road trip and see where it takes you.
