Pitchfork

A few years ago, I made the fatal mistake of trying to introduce my grandparents to the joys of rock. I figured, you know, they're pretty hip for old people-- they usually win at bridge, and they drive at night. Perhaps it'd be easier for me to relate to them if we had at least some sense of musical common ground.

So, my grandfather entered into a pact with me: he would listen to a Beatles record if I would sit through the classic 1942 James Cagney Musical, Yankee Doodle Dandy. It seemed like a glimmer of hope, but it wasn't meant to be. The agreement quickly dissipated and my grandfather returned to blasting the "noise" that I listen to. "It all sounds the same anyhow," he said.

Immediately, I was on the defensive. I was prepared to rip my poor, defenseless grandpa to bits with my biting wit and immense store of rock knowledge. But instead, I found myself stumbling for something to say that could explain the differences between rock bands to an 80 year-old man who still considers Lawrence Welk "cutting-edge." Of course rock bands sound different! I mean, to say that the Beach Boys and AC/DC are virtually identical just seems off the mark.

But for the most part, rock is defined by the presence of a few distinct elements-- mainly, the guitar/bass/drums setup. Plus, rock music hasn't traditionally broken out of fairly standard tonalities-- the majority of rock music, especially popular rock music, has always centered around a pretty limited number of chords and scales. And yet, out of these elements have come not only such a wide range of sounds, but a startlingly wide range of quality. Some bands have attained this by honing in on particular aspects of the rock sound-- one could very easily say something to the effect of, "I like band a because of their x." (Example: "I like Don Caballero for their drummer," or, "I like Britney Spears for her full, heaving melodies.")

But the best rock music has very little to do with having one standout element. Not to slip into gestalt or anything, but the best rock truly is that which manages to be infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. It's an inexplicable quality, really, but the most important in rock. It's what sets apart the true playas from the sucka MCs. And Clinic has it in truckloads.

There's nothing particularly "experimental" or ground-breaking about Internal Wrangler. Guitar, bass, and drums are the predominant instruments, with flourishes of organ and tinny drum samples thrown in. There are no microtonal guitar solos or squelching analog synthtones. The true beauty of Clinic is that they have, using a relatively standard rock vocabulary, constructed a truly distinctive, energetic, and magnetically appealing sound.

"Voodoo Wop" opens Internal Wrangler with layers of drums, including bongos, which build upon a slinky bassline and snippets of ambient noise. Coupled with budget reverb that lends a garage-rock aesthetic, the track creates a wall of tension and uneasiness. But it isn't until the record's second track, "Return of Evil Bill," that Clinic unleashes their secret weapon: lead singer Ade Blackburn.

Blackburn's delivery melds the drony expression of Lou Reed with the fragility of Sigur Rós frontman Jón Thór Birgisson and the instability of Thom Yorke; he employs his voice not merely as a vehicle for lyrical expression, but as an entirely separate melodic and percussive element. One of the album's many peaks comes with Blackburn's incoherent ramblings on "The Second Line." As opposed to the "yeah yeah yeah's" that have become such a trite aspect of rock music, the mess of vowels and consonants that Blackburn spits out during the course of the song serve as a visceral outlet for his amazingly expressive voice.

Clinic aren't interested in studio sheen and perfected instrumentation, which is exactly what makes them innovative. In a world of anally retentive college boys who spend hours at the mixing board to assure that every note is flawlessly delivered, in key, and not a 16th of a second off beat, Clinic's degree of spontaneity lends them an air of complete originality. To them, it's not about the production qualities, the change-up, or the nit-picking. It's not about anything other than playing the music itself. And more than anything else, that's what comes through on Internal Wrangler. Their delivery captures a mind-blowing live performance, despite its studio origins.

It's tough to pick a single best moment from the record. Initially, I was drawn to the "Heroin" and "Motion Picture Soundtrack" hybrid, "Distortions." Over a nicely sequenced drum machine beat and hollow organ, Blackburn cries through a straitjacket of vacuum-sealed production, "I want to know my body/ I want this out, not in me," as a lone trumpet releases a shrill yelp in the distance. As the song progresses, the lyrics become more cryptic and moving, culminating with indelible lines like, "You cannot know how often/ I've pictured you in coffins/ My baby in a coffin." As the lyrics grow bleaker, the song takes off, its rhythm increasing slightly as the trumpet returns with unfocused blasts.

The closing ballad, "Goodnight Georgie," is the most sparse track on Internal Wrangler, and one of the best. Relying almost exclusively on a gently strummed guitar, Blackburn's deeply affecting vocals, and occasional flourishes of trumpet, piano, and tambourine, the song brings into focus the band's astounding melodic sense, showcasing one of the most perfectly constructed vocal melodies to grace a record in years.

But the brilliance of Clinic is not relegated to quasi-ballads like "Goodnight Georgie." Sloppy garage punk tracks like "C.Q." and "Hippy Death Suite" crank out raw, clanging noise, utilizing the same elements as their slower, more consonant counterparts, never sacrificing their seemingly inherent sense of dense rhythm and soaring melody.

Many bands spend their entire careers trying to find a signature sound and perfect it. Clinic, on the other hand, have accomplished this feat with their debut full-length. Passionate, visceral, and immensely moving, Internal Wrangler is a landmark achievement not only for Clinic, but for all of rock music. It's the perfect testament to why rock will never die-- there will always be groups like Clinic who cannibalize their influences, pick out the tastiest bits, and reconstruct them into something that is not only completely their own, but embodies all the primal appeal of rock and roll. Internal Wrangler is that kind of album-- so engaging and well-executed, I can't imagine how anyone could not love it. Except, maybe, my grandpa.