Clearlake: Cedars
Album Review of Cedars, by Clearlake [2003, Domino]
When something is too British, what exactly does that mean? Many years ago, such a comment likely referred to a proclivity on the part of that thing being discussed to colonize and rescue distant populations from a perceived savage existence. Alternately, it could have referred to the fact that the sun never set on said thing. Today, it likely denotes a self-important, whiny lead vocalist.
Jason Pegg handles self-important, whiny lead vocal duties for the British outfit Clearlake. Their latest offering, Cedars, opens with a sweet, chugging guitar-driven number ("Almost the Same") that conjures up visions of Duckie from Pretty in Pink hopping around at that club where Andrew Dice Clay was the doorman. The vocals assimilate nicely into the music, and the possibility is raised immediately that this will not be another too British record. Then "The Mind is Evil" slides in as the second track, and Pegg bemoans the control his dastardly brain yields over him: "It makes me do all those unspeakable things / Things I can't bear to remember." Hey Pegg, here's a Kleenex. Wipe that snot from beneath your pasty British nose. The rote string section lazily ebbing and flowing behind him rams both testicles even further up the song's abdomen.
"Wonder If the Snow Will Settle" threatens to prematurely bury this joint in a scrap heap of moping mediocrity. Pegg drags out each word of, "What's the point of worrying / How will things turn out / And why spoil the surprise / You know it won't live up to your expectations / And then you'll wonder why." The bland accompaniment supporting this Anglo-pouting is the musical equivalent to a giant plate of unseasoned boiled potatoes.
Clearlake does one thing quite well, however: they rock. When the guitars are nudged up to the fore and the pace kicked up a few kilometers per hour, Cedars morphs into something surprisingly powerful. The opener and "Come Into the Darkness" exemplify best Clearlake's ability to craft some nicely fuzzed-out, lightly distorted speaker hogs. The latter's bridge puts the satin in my panties with a building and layered burst of guitars. "Treat Yourself With Kindness" is another of these minor shitkickers. It begins with a steady backbeat and a sinister guitar part heavy on the treble. The chorus arrives aboard a hulking wave of power chord thickness. This all makes the lines, "Do unto yourself as you might wish thy will be done / By someone else and try your best to treat yourself / With just a little kindness" almost forgivable.
"Trees in the City" is an admittedly pretty song, and as the record's closer it leaves a nice taste in the mouth. Lyrically, it boasts the record's most appealing moment: "There's mud on your shoes, there's dirt in your hair / Still ... maybe the trees in the city are still there." The vocals work more with the music than on the other slower paced tunes, which reduces the whine factor to almost nil.
Is much of Britain's pop music output just too competent? Clearlake certainly has a knack for crafting a melody, but sometimes the vocals are so clean they gallop off into show-tune territory. Maybe the uneasy feeling I get from many Britpop bands is a tribute to their superior use of the language and pride in what their songs mean. Maybe I'm just some lowbrow schmuck who'd rather hear a nonsensical rant like "Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine" than a syrupy meditation on the control our ego exerts over us in our darkest hours set to a dense orchestral arrangement.
Or maybe, as much as I appreciate that there should be a place for bands like Clearlake in the musical landscape, I appreciate it more when a band doesn't appear to be trying so hard.
Purchase Clearlake: Cedars online now.
(This review was originally published in 2003 at Smalldoggies online, Version 1)