These days, most bands are easy. They want to be reminiscent of the last big band you heard on the radio. They want that sticker on the jewel case saying "FOR FANS OF A.F.I., THE VINES AND DEFTONES!" (As if any band could sound like those three bands simultaneously, and be good doing it.) They wanna be stereotyped. They wanna be classified.
But there are still some that defy categorization beyond the most vague and general terms. It seems a little sad that acts that follow their own creative vision are now seen as eccentrics, as mavericks — the exceptions rather than the norm.
Of course, being original doesn't always equal being good.
In the case of Clutch, however, it does. Since '91, the Maryland quartet has enjoyed steady critical acclaim, a large, loyal following and a reputation as one of heavy music's most compelling live acts. They've also been on about a jillion labels, touted by each as positioned on the cusp of the big time and conspicuously associated with whatever happened to be big in metal at the time — only to be shuffled off to another imprint when their latest record only sold several thousand more than its predecessor. That used to be called "building a fanbase"; now it's called a commercial failure.
Through it all, the foursome has kept their heads down and their tour vehicle's odometer spinning, ignoring their labels' press releases (and the bands the press releases kept comparing them to) and continuing to refine their own inimitable sound — an indefinable amalgam of monolithic Southern boogie, down-tempo groove, hardcore aggression and dark psychedelia.
"I think we just kind of grinned and bore it, took it with a grain of salt," says frontman Neil Fallon, whose gruff vocal delivery and thoughtful, often free-associative lyrics are a big part of both Clutch's idiosyncratic style and appeal. "I understand that a label has a marketing department, and they have to send releases out. Nine times out of 10, the comparisons are inappropriate, but it's just the way they think."
It's fairly obvious that the industry at large tends to think of its target audience as either lazy, which they can be, or dumb, something Clutch fans, by and large, are not. An example: The e-mail I received from Clutch's current label, Megaforce Records, contained a line informing me that if I hadn't heard the band before, they were like Queens of the Stone Age. Never mind that experienced music scribes who are (a) on the Megaforce e-list and (b) unfamiliar with Clutch, might need to reevaluate their qualifications. Clutch has little in common with Queens, sonically speaking, beyond a love for grooves and a startlingly original sound. Comparing them to Josh Homme's legendary pre-Queens outfit, Kyuss, would be much more stylistically and temporally apt.
Of course, when one compares the number of Kyuss fans to the number of folks who've at least heard of the very hip Queens …
"They'll pick whatever's hot," agrees Fallon. "That name is on the tips of a lot of tongues. It's easier for the kid who runs the record store at the mall to read that and say, 'Oh.' It's almost like a sound bite."
When the first stoner-metal trend bubbled up from underground, Clutch (Fallon, guitarist Tim Sult, bassist Dan Maines and drummer Jean-Paul Gaster) was immediately saddled with the classification. When European avant-metal groups like Meshuggah became blips on the mainstream radar, Clutch became associated with a semi-progressive scene. And in perhaps the most laughable example of misperception, Fallon's caustic, rhythmic rhymes on the song "Careful with That Mic…" (from 2001's excellent Pure Rock Fury), inspired several uninitiated scribes to tag the group as rap-rock.
Such nonstop attempts to pigeonhole a group as eclectic and creative as Clutch might be frustrating for its members, but there is an upside: It works, in a way. Sure, some people who hear the comparisons and pick up an album will be put off when it doesn't deliver a familiar genre. Others, however, will be impressed, and become fans. Ditto those who catch the band sharing the stage with an incredibly broad spectrum of tourmates.
"Many of the tours we've been on, you can pick out the kid that first heard us opening for Marilyn Manson, and the kid that first heard us with Voivod," Fallons says. "I'd rather see that than a crowd that's completely homogenized."
Critics, fans and even non-fans who are familiar with the band's work all agree that Clutch is at its most powerful and persuasive onstage. The band released a limited-edition live-at-rehearsal album, Jam Room, in 2000 (naturally, some idiots immediately began calling them a jam band), but it wasn't until last fall that a proper in-concert full-length, Live at the Googolplex, saw the light of day. While some pundits will point to a live album as either a stopgap measure or the end of any given group's creative peak, with Clutch, the resulting reviews seem to say "Finally!" more than anything else. For their part, Fallon says it was just a matter of things coming together.
"That one we put out after we recorded some shows, not with the intention of putting out a live record. … There has always been a lot of tape trading going on, so we just figured we should get into that game as well," he says with a laugh.
The band is currently mixing their sixth studio release — when it comes out, I'll undoubtedly get a press release from somebody comparing Clutch to whatever heavy band is babbling on Headbanger's Ball at the time. Also undoubtedly, they will still be no more or less than the band they are now, driven far more by their own creative impulses than the marketplace.
"I think you gotta be [that way], or you're just gonna end up with the lowest common denominator, a musical pabulum," reckons Fallon. "If you can't find enough interesting musical statements in your own band, then you're probably flogging a dead horse. And that goes for any genre, really."
DRUMROLL, PLEASE
Thanks to everybody who sent in a pitch for my little "Be a Rock Critic for a Week" sweepstakes. I got far more entries than I anticipated (I anticipated, like, three), and almost all of them were great. OK, almost all of them were good.
But we've picked a winner. If you didn't get an e-mail, it wasn't you. Fear not, however, your topic may yet show up, in the form of a column I wrote after "being inspired by" (read: stealing) the idea.
Again, thanks a ton. There really were a bunch of good, thoughtful pitches, and it was extremely difficult whittling them down to one — we may have to do this again. You rock. And look for a different name at the top of this page in a few weeks.
Contact Music Critic Scott Harrell at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or by e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Jan 22-28, 2004.