Home Read Classic Album Review: Clutch | Live At The Googolplex

Classic Album Review: Clutch | Live At The Googolplex

Dig 55 minutes of pig-sticking Southern-rock dementia & ’70s metal absurdity from gravel-throated yeller Neil Fallon & his criminally underappreciated Maryland quartet.

This came out in 2003 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):


Ah, the summer concert season. Is there any more exciting time for a fan?

After all, how often do you get the chance to blow most of your paycheque for the privilege of being crammed into the back row of a stadium’s upper deck, staring for two hours at the butt of the biker in front of you while he dances on his seat, screams “Whooo!” at the top of his lungs every 30 seconds and spills beer on your head? If you’re ready for a less stressful (and less expensive) concert experience, perhaps it’s time to check out this new live album. If you still don’t feel like you’re at a gig, try parking your car two miles away and charging yourself $5 for a bottle of water.

THE TICKET: Nearly 55 minutes of pig-sticking Southern-rock dementia and ’70s metal absurdity from this criminally underappreciated Maryland foursome.

SOUND CHECK: As gritty, greasy and finger-licking good as a big ole mess o’ chicken-fried steak swimming in sausage gravy.

GOLDEN OLDIES: I’d hardly call them golden, but there are a few oldies on this 15-track offering from gravel-throated yeller Neil Fallon and his bandmates. But really, any song, new or old, that starts off with the lines, “Hey, hey, now, what’s that smell? / Just like cornbread done too well” is an instant classic in my book.

BIC LIGHTER BALLAD: Dream on, pal.

ROCK-STAR CLICHE: These guys are way too poor to act like rock stars. And way too eclectic to be cliche — this set lurches like a drunken hillbilly between swaggering old-school rawk, hilarious rap-metal parodies and neck-snapping funk.

LAST WORDS: It takes a special kind of band to successfully and seamlessy combine the hot ’n’ nasty boogie-metal of Black Oak Arkansas, the twisted stinkfoot rock of Frank Zappa and the outrageous rap of Kool Keith. Luckily, Clutch are definitely special — in the Olympian sense.