Over 25 years and twelve albums, there’s a strong argument to be made that Clutch have become the ultimate rock ‘n’ roll band. Certainly vocalist Neil Fallon revels in his role of frontman, preaching the sermon of rock from a pulpit wreathed in flame as the band lay down a suitably apocalyptic soundtrack behind. Recorded in just three weeks, in Nashville, with four-time Grammy winner Vance Powell (Seasick Steve, The White Stripes), the book of bad decisions sees the band capturing the essence of their live spirit on record with the net result that the album is both a continuation of their awesome career arc and a stand-out album all at once.
Opening with Gimme the keys, a track that emerges from a hazy miasma of swampy noise and heavily distorted percussion, Clutch immediately set about reducing the foundations to rubble with a dark blues anthem that provides the perfect soundtrack for Neil’s dark, Stephen-King-esque proclamations. It’s business as usual, in the sense that this could be no one other than Clutch, and yet the band play with such dizzying energy that the uninitiated would be forgiven for thinking this the band’s debut. With its surging, southern groove, Spirit of ’76 is a mean, whiskey-soaked stomp dedicated to banging heads and shaking asses. It pretty much perfectly encapsulates the Clutch live experience, and if you’re not tapping something, you best get out now before things get heavy. An early highlight, the title track is built around throbbing bass and a somnolent beat that allows plenty of room for Neil’s sermonising. Hot-wired blues with a demonic edge, it’s all but impossible to listen without an image of Bonn Scott clad in a surplice, springing to mind. With riffs that splutter and spark and Dan Maines’ skull-splitting bass, the stab of organ that appears in the background is merely the sonic icing on the hard-rockin’ cake. In contrast, how to shake hands is an unstoppable charge that sees the band unleashing a sonic firestorm of biblical proportions as Neil adopts the character of a baby-kissing politician, all smarmy platitudes and self-belief. Unbelievably, the band takes things up several notches with the ecstatic, horn-soaked In Walks Barbarella, a track that summons the spirit of the Blues Brothers. As Neil yells about “weaponised funk”, the track will leave you sweaty and exhilarated and its follow-up, Vision quest is hardly less exciting, the band digging deep to offer a series of riffs up to the gods as pianos crash and Jean-Paul Gaster’s drums threaten to kick-start an earthquake. Finally we come to the cow-bell-fueled monster, Weird Times. The perfect track to accompany hell’s own dance-floor, weird times sees the first half of the album spin to a halt with bodies strewn about in ecstatic exhaustion.
Necessarily slowing the pace if the audience are to survive, the hypnotic Emily Dickinson is a mid-paced piece that recalls Monster Magnet at their most gloriously psychedelic. Sonic Councillor sees Clutch adding to an already-crowded CV as Neil details the job description over a riff so chunky you could chew on it for days. Next up, a good fire sees Neil recount hearing Black Sabbath for the first time, his lyrics instantly relatable for anyone who lives for rock and metal. The absolutely bonkers Ghoul wrangler comes across like a cross between Ghost Busters and the Goonies before the snarling H.B. is in control delivers a chorus so satisfying you’ll be singing it for weeks. The countrified twang of hot bottom feeder heads into Deliverance territory, whilst the bristling riffs of paper and strife are played with such frantic fervour that you forget you’re fourteen tracks into the album. Last, but by no means least, the album comes to a suitably thunderous end with the monstrous epic, Lorelei. With Jean-Paul’s increasingly inventive percussion and the blazing riffs of Tim Sult and Neil Fallon reverberating around the studio, Lorelei is the conclusion the record needed to have and it brings this most tumultuous disc to a satisfying close.
Over the years, Clutch have built a truly rabid following. Their dedication to their craft, their resolute honesty and their unswerving passion for rock ‘n’ roll remains undimmed and the book of bad decisions continues a run of albums that has rarely dipped below the exceptional. Most importantly, the book of bad decisions is a whole lot of fun – like the soundtrack to a beer-soaked party, packed with sweaty, heaving bodies, it will rock you to the very core… Fantastic! 9
