FEATURED INTERVIEWS

Sonic Youth, 2009

Grizzly Bear, 2009

Yo La Tengo, 2009

Michael Stipe, 2008

Stephen Malkmus, 2008

Conor Oberst, 2007

The Long Blondes, 2006



FEATURED REVIEWS

Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks, 2008

Beach House, 2008

The Clientele, 2007

Frida Hyvönen, 2006

Ladybug Transistor, 2006

Hidden Cameras, 2006

The Clientele
God Save the Clientele
+ Venus magazine, April 2007 +

The Clientele have fashioned an inspired career by embracing an unlikely quotient of Galaxie 500’s minimalist jangle and Love’s vaguely psychedelic chamber pop, perfect for framing songwriter Alasdair MacLean’s half-light lovelorn ruminations. They seemingly exhausted that formula on 2002’s minor masterpiece The Violet Hour, but got some more mileage out of it on 2005’s Strange Geometry, which was buttressed by string arrangements courtesy of Louis Philippe. On this, their third proper full length, there are embellishments that peak through the monochromatic murk; pedal steel, keyboards, and violin, all tasteful accoutrements that enrich when they could have easily detracted, subtly refining the band’s distinctive sound.

The splendor here is largely found the nuance. It’s in the way new member Mel Draisey’s violin adroitly adds dazzling John Cale-like texture to “These Days Nothing But Sunshine,” while Phillipe again impresses with his subtly effective string arrangements, nicely animating the jaunty opener “Here Comes the Phantom.” The arpeggiated breeze in “The Dance of the Hours” is yet another stylistic departure for the band, with its windswept melody conjuring early Felt, while the seesaw jangle of “Somebody Changed” is pure Fifth Dimension era Byrds.

Levity is found on the superb Bee Gees inspired “Bookshop Casanova,” as MacLean ramps up his flat, Tom Verlaine on valium monotone, waxing flippantly romantic as he croons “You’ve got my name/You’ve got my number/Let’s be lovers,” over ebullient, disco-driven syncopation. “The Garden at Night” sports rough-hewn Nuggets garage sheen flourishes, while the spoken word vocals capture the schizoid feel of The Velvet Underground’s “Murder Mystery.”

While this record won’t change anyone’s world view, it does tug hard at this insular band’s self-imposed boundaries. At its core these are still wistful, reverb drenched tunes; The Clientele’s own idiosyncratic sonic version of impressionism. It’s yet another great record, one that’s as compellingly oblique as it is achingly gorgeous.