If
you’ve ever tried to create alongside another person, especially in the field
of music, you don’t need to be told that being an innovator is damn hard. It’s
almost impossible for a band to be successful or original if its member’s don’t
work together, or at the very least work around each other. Thus, it is a very
rare thing to see a unit connect so strongly in both theory and action that
their creative endeavor takes on a life of its own, growing a voice that
belongs solely to its creators. To devise a presence that can literally be
found nowhere else is impossible, and so listening to Our Lady Peace’s
sophomore record Clumsy is like
pulling an album out of an alternate dimension, because they somehow manages to
do it extremely well.
The
sound of Clumsy is best described
with two words: simple and disturbing. The composition on the record is
remarkably straightforward, though by no means boring. Almost all the songs avoid
deviation across key and time signature and rely on weathered and reliable
structures, instead drawing their power from profuse and well-employed dynamic
changes. This alternation of loud-quiet and heavy-soft perfectly plays into the
creepy tone that seethes from this CD, a feel that Our Lady Peace has worked
hard to hone. Both Raine Maida and Mike Turner have uniquely dark approaches to
their instrumentation and performance, combining wavering falsettos with
dissonant, effect-laden guitar riffs to envelop their record in a mood that is
wholly uncomfortable at times. Add to this the band’s penchant for whispering
through almost inaudible volumes, only to dive into a fiery explosion seconds
later, and the resulting sound is absolutely unique and unsettling.
The
distinctively dark sound on Clumsy is
a child with four parents, as each member of Our Lady Peace brings their own
remarkable flavor to the mix. The driving force of the instrumentation appears
to be Mike Turner’s guitar playing, as his heavy chords and sickly melodies
really lead the rhythm section along through energy and emotion. His guitar
riffs drive most of the songs forward—when Turner is heavy, OLP is heavy, but
when he backs off onto clean chords or dissonant picking, the band becomes a
quiet echo of his riff. And although much of his playing is rather simple, he
overlays melody and chords which interlock exquisitely, such as in “Big Dumb
Rocket,” the chorus of which features a heavy chord progression punctuated with
wailing bends and whiny trills. Mike Turner’s approach to his guitarwork is
three-fold, creating a foundation, fluctuating the velocity of that foundation,
and peppering it with intricate melodies, all of which meld in a seamless
whirlpool of sound that belongs nowhere else but on Clumsy.
Though
Mike Turner’s guitar is certainly pivotal in the shape of this record, the most
intricate musicianship is provided by drummer Jeremy Taggart. His approach to
percussion feels both simultaneously calculated and improvised, an immaculate
amalgamation of two completely different approaches to his instrument. And
where Mike Turner governs the energy level of the songs, Jeremy adds an element
of sophistication, defining every part with syncopated hits and fills to which
the string section attaches itself. One of the best examples of Taggart’s
supercomputer-esque drumming comes from the song “Carnival.” His metronomic
snare rolls in the verse are so solid they might have been programmed, but they
lead into a chorus brimming with syncopated cymbal hits and fills, a section
that has long been one of my favorite examples of drumming. On top of this,
Taggart slips underneath the quiet and wailing bridge with an improvisational line
that seems almost random, but never lets the rhythm or beat waver. Jeremy Taggart’s
drumming is a strange blend of accompaniment and lead, and so interesting that
it is actually the loudest part of the album mix behind the vocals.
In
sharp contrast to the drums is the bass work of Duncan Coutts, whose
contributions on Clumsy feel largely functional.
Coutts seems to lack a real presence in the songs, which can perhaps be
attributed to the fact that he was a new addition to Our Lady Peace at the time
of recording, having replaced original bassist Chris Earcratt only a few months
before. Though Coutts is really a background accent on the record (the bass guitar
is hardly audible in the mix, and turning it up on the EQ boosts Jeremy’s toms
rather than the whole low end), he by no means lacks skill or purpose. He holds
down the rhythm section when Taggart drifts into uncharted territories,
maintaining a very solid foundation that allows the other three members to
explore their instruments. His decision to lay back and let the others play around
helps keep the record grounded, but Coutts does not totally ignore his own
flamboyant side. In fact, the bass on “Superman’s Dead,” the album’s opener and
lead single,[1]
is laden with intricate flairs and complex basslines, which manage to really
stand out in the tune despite being in the very back of the mix. The song’s
outro is particularly charged with low-end fury, as Coutts explores every inch
of his guitar’s neck, punctuating each repetition as only a true bassist could.
Though Duncan Coutts stakes no claim to the spotlight on Clumsy, his solid low-end stylings lays the roots from which Our
Lady Peace can completely bloom.
Above
this threefold instrumental platform rides Raine Maida’s singing, which is so
distinctive and multidimensional that it demands center stage on this record. Raine’s
voice is truly one of a kind, as he constantly affects an accent that can only
be described as paranoid: his notes crack in fear when he sings quietly, and
hum in incredible vibrato as he wails. He integrates the very shape of his
mouth into his singing, giving every word an eerie tinge that ranges from
anxious to despairing. But Raine does not rely only on the sound of his voice
to emote, instead allowing it to blossom fully as he moves up and down his
range. His uncanny ability to jump from throaty lows up to the very top of his
falsetto without losing an iota of power is simply incredible, and triples any
effect his voice is creating. An easy third of Clumsy is sung in falsetto, which for any other band would be
record suicide. Yet Raine’s disturbing affectation and powerful delivery never
loses control, making tunes such as “Car Crash,” where Raine howls in anguish along
the entire length of his range, immerse the listener in the darkness swirling
about on this record.
Instrumentally,
Clumsy is superb, mixing four
distinct approaches to composition into something that is so refined and yet so
simple. Unfortunately, however, the lyrical content of the record does not
quite rise to this standard. Raine’s writing is extremely basic for the most
part, but also very vague—he often attempts to use metaphor, but his word
choices and structure generally fail to deliver whatever message Raine had in
mind. There are occasional interesting images, such as in “Big Dumb Rocket,”
where he is “disgusted by my fingertips and what they’ve done,”[2]
but for the most part his affectation of the language to his ideas is weak and
confusing. This frailty perhaps stems from the fact that Our Lady Peace
originally ran into a lot of trouble when writing the record, so much so that
they scrapped most of the ideas and started over.[3]
Despite this, there is one instance in which Raine’s use of language is
extremely effective; in the song “Carnival,”
Raine deftly paints images of an absurd world with a “yoga class for cats,” and
breathes new life into a dead cliché with the chorus: “You’re frustrated by the
cracks in the pavement / and every mother’s back once again.”[4]
Though
individually, the songs on Clumsy
lack for lyrical depth, there is a big factor that redeems the poor language
choices: the lyrics on Clumsy unify
the record with universal themes. The language and music combine in many songs
to imply an absurd atmosphere, such as one might experience at a carnival or a
circus.[5] In
songs like “Automatic Flowers,” “Hello Oskar,” and “Superman’s Dead,” Raine
creates characters who are outside of society because of mental illness, social
disconnection, or poor self esteem. He gathers these characters under one
umbrella record, a collective of outsiders which, when viewed by society, would
easily be misinterpreted as a freak show.
This
idea of misperception is another theme Our Lady Peace explores, and one that
unites with the record’s title. In a 1997 interview, Mike Turner discussed the
significance of the album’s title: “There is a forgiveness to clumsy….If more
people would make the assumption that others are clumsy, be it emotionally or
physically, I think the world would have a great deal more compassion.”[6] Many
songs on this record investigate this idea that perhaps the world isn’t
inherently rotten, but that people are simply clumsy, being destructive without
meaning to. “Big Dumb Rocket” greatly connects to this ideal, as it describes
an instance in which Raine, while trying to play a prank, almost accidently
shot his friend in the face with a loaded gun.[7] Songs
like “Big Dumb Rocket” and “Clumsy” dissect the initial image we see, urging us
to look deeper into a situation, in hopes that we might discover those humanity
is not malicious, only ditzy.
Despite
somewhat weak lyrics and a mix that does the band absolutely no justice, Our
Lady Peace presents a whole stack of interesting ideas with Clumsy, and does so with the simplest of
approaches. Their musical style is wholly captured on this record, effectively
communicating every ounce of the creepy, paranoid tone that is this band’s John
Hancock. The songs want not for energy or intrigue, and the flawlessly interlocking
coordination these four musicians have leaves Clumsy as a record I both highly recommend, if not for the
incredible songs, then simply because nowhere else will you ever hear anything quite
like this record.
Tunes to Check Out:
1) Carnival
2) Superman's Dead
3) Let You Down
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