The Clientele - Strange Geometry

By: Adrien Begrand

Monday April 10, 2006

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Genre

rock

Publisher

Merge

External Links

Indie rock has always had its share of well-kept secrets, the bands that are so appealing, so deserving of high praise, that when they fail to attract the tunnel-visioned gaze of mainstream audiences, languishing on the periphery, they become heroes to their hipster followers, who are convinced that despite the fact that their favorite band deserves better, they're somehow better for it. It's always the case, and if you're an obsessive music fan, you have your own obscure bands to whom you cling like a petulant five year-old who won't share the Flintstones Phone at kindergarten, wishing TRL, Rolling Stone, or top 40 radio will never catch on, lest your heroes' reputation be sullied with their corporate claws. But try telling that to the talented bands driving a rented mini-van across the Continental Divide, hoping they can sell enough merch at their next show so they can afford gas. In the end, indie cred has nothing on a swanky tour bus.

Like Richard Hawley, The Clientele are perennial critical and hipster darlings that deserve far more than the adulation of a few dozen blog writers. In the same way that Hawley channels the pop music of four decades ago, so do The Clientele, their sumptuous, yet simple music deriving heavily from the psychedelic side of rock 'n' roll, retro enough to win over baby boomers who have grown weary of scouring record stores, yet contemporary enough to thrill those looking for an alternative to the music the media spoon-feeds the public. Sure, people might toss in comparisons to Belle and Sebastian when describing The Clientele, but for a better idea of what this much-loved band is all about, you have to backtrack from decade to decade, to Galaxie 500, Felt, Television, The Velvet Underground, Love, and The Byrds, the influence of whom combining to make one of the most likeable bands today.

As opposed to the trio's trademark atmospheric sound heard in their 2003 album The Violet Hour (not to mention their many singles between 1995 and 2000), in which singer/guitarist Alasdair MacLean's lead vocals were heard through a guitar amp, drenching the album in hypnotic reverb, The Clientele go for a simpler, cleaner sound on Strange Geometry, and with the help of producer Brian O'Shaughnessy (best known for his work with Beth Orton), they've put together an album every bit as good as its predecessor. Although the themes of love, loss, and love lost dominates, the band brilliantly masks the melancholy with rich, gorgeous, hook-laden songs, best exemplified by the lively "Since K Got Over Me," the vibrato guitar-driven "My Own Face Inside the Trees," a lively coda featuring the soloing prowess of MacLean highlights "Impossible," and the wonderful "E.M.P.T.Y.," which takes MacLean's self-loathing and creates an ironically ebullient sing-along.

A verse in the booklet by poet Arthur Mechen calls London "the city of resurrections," and almost like a Mike Leigh film, over the course of the album, we're given glimpses of different neighborhoods and locales, but as strong as the music is, it would have been nice if the band took the idea a little further, going into greater detail in the songs. The spoken word track "Losing Haringey" tries valiantly, but compelling as the story is, and as lovely as the backing music is, the narration is lifeless, and is often on the verge of drowning in the mix. It's the type of song that Jarvis Cocker pulled off so brilliantly with Pulp, but here, it almost kills the momentum of the first ten tracks. Almost. As the dreamy "Six of Spades" closes the CD on a very strong note, the band returns to what they have always done best, which is all their small following of fans ask of them. Now all The Clientele need is the rest of the world to catch on.