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| MUSTHEAR REVIEW: |
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One of my favorite "Sixties" bands, the Clientele didn’t even cut a record until three decades after the passing of the Summer of Love. With a vintage sound almost entirely outside of contemporary music, the Clientele’s exquisite pop conjures up a pastoral age of hazy psychedelic dreamscapes splashed with soft sunshine, swirling leaves, hopeful longings, and just a little bit of rain. Even if you were born too late, their wistfully nostalgic melodies will lull your mental clock into believing it’s 1968 again. The London-based trio formed in mid-1997, releasing a string of hard-to-find singles and EPs, most of which were collected on their first full-length release in 2001, Suburban Light. No ordinary compilation, Suburban Light flows as logically and organically as an actual album. From start to finish, the record’s 13 cuts carry the listener through an elusive and haunting world of vanished yesterdays, a mythical time and place inhabited by Zombies and Beatles, where Love coursed through the Village Green, and fallen heroes Nick Drake and Syd Barrett still walked tall. On such songs as "Reflections After Jane," "As Night Is Falling," and "Monday’s Rain," Alasdair MacLean’s breathy vocals and softly chiming guitar float over minimalist bass and drum rhythms to give the album its mood of delicious melancholy. MacLean’s lyrics are surreal and impenetrable, lightly poetic without ever sounding indulgent. The few uptempo tracks like "We Could Walk Together" and "From A Window" do nothing to disrupt the album’s overall vibe, balancing it out instead with some nuance and bite. Post-script: It’s been unseasonably cloudy in Los Angeles this week. At the end of a long relationship, I sadly wonder if the sky might not be some dark reflection of my inner world. Meanwhile Suburban Light spins non-stop in the background, quickly becoming one of those significant break-up albums destined for resentment by future girlfriends. But unlike past heart-break classics like Van Morrison’s Veedon Fleece (Dear Keri Levy, it was my fault), Suburban Light cuts its heavy dose of melancholy with the tonic of desire and hope. The incredibly great records of the Sixties offered that generation a tantalizing light to cast out the darkness of Richard M. Nixon, Agent Orange, and the like. Though less brilliant than those magic musical relics (you know the ones), Suburban Light shares their spirit if not their lofty aims. And that’s impressive for any new band in the age of Britney Spears. —John Ballon (email) May 7, 2002
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