Clinic
Clinic
Domino Recording Co. (U.K.)
Clinic is a tough act to pin down. Live, each member of the band wears a surgical
mask. Their first three singles — thankfully compiled on this CD from Domino — came out on the band's own label, Alladin's Cave of Golf. Despite the esoteric record label name and the Residents-esque live shows, the group has received rave reviews from just about every attendee of its gigs. The band's sound is just as varied.
In spirit, the Liverpool-based group is most similar to off-the-wall outfits Devo
and the Residents, but the group sounds little like the latter and much more resourceful
than the former. Fragments of Clinic's songs recall a million other bands — Stereolab, Man...or Astroman?, The Velvet Underground and The Violent Femmes
to name a few — but the end result sounds little like any of these bands.
How does Clinic pull it all off? By mixing surf-rock guitar and falsettoes, quirky,
deadpan vocals (sometimes with a slight tinge of reverb), trebly moog drone, record
scratches and, most importantly, well-written, carefully-crafted hooks.
This songwriting brilliance/creative appropriation/call-it-what-you-will shines
through from the opening drumbeats of the Devo/Violent Femmes-esque stomp, "I.P.C.
Subeditors Dictate Our Youth," all the way through the closing drones of the
Velvet-Underground-circa-2005 "Voot." In between, we have a wailing, moaning, orgasmic
tune — aptly named "Porno" — a racing surf-rock number called "Cement Mixer," which puts that genre's best artists to shame and an oohs and ahhs-filled song whose chorus is something along the lines of "No one knows how your monkey grows." And that doesn't even
cover half of it.
At 25 minutes, this self-titled CD might be the tightest collection of pop songs since The Pixies' Come On Pilgrim. It truly is the kind of CD you'll play five to 10 times the first day. Cross your fingers, and pray for US release. Oh, and while you're at it, a full-length album would be nice, too.
— Eric Wittmershaus (ericw at flakmag dot com)
