In order to provide full disclosure, I must admit to something up front before you read any further into this review: I love Clutch. No, I don’t think you read that closely enough. I. Love. Clutch. They are without a doubt and without hesitation for thought, my favorite band and have been for well over a decade. Their eclectic yet familiar blend of stoner rock groove, bluesy boogie, clever lyricism and jam-band ethos has positioned them at the apex of my own personal musical Mount Everest (just a notch or two above Danzig and Slayer, in case you were wondering). And that’s not even taking into account that they are the best live band in the world right now. In a nutshell, Clutch kicks my, your, and your mama’s ass on a daily basis. If you don’t agree, I hear there’s a new album from The Used dropping soon. Go knock yourself out, Emo McCocksucker. I just wanted to establish from the jump that, yes, I am an unabashedly pathetic and dorky Clutch fanatic.

“Why is that important?” you ask. “Who cares how much you like the band, Al, what does the record sound like?”

Well, this is the reason it matters, junior: This is the album that non-Clutch fans have been waiting for.

“Huh?”

Yep. This is it. This is the big one. If Clutch is going to break into the mainstream, this is the one to do it.

“So this is their best album yet?”

Um, no. The title of “Best Clutch Album Ever” (BCAE) will vary from fan to fan (IMO it’s a tie between the self-titled and Blast Tyrant), but it’s doubtful that this one will ever be as beloved by the die-hards as past releases.

“So it sucks, then?”

No, jackass, it rules. Clutch is physically, metaphorically, and spiritually incapable of sucking and don’t you ever even hint at such a thing again. What I’m saying here is that Clutch has managed to throw together a cohesive, accessible, and smoking new album that is radio-friendly and inviting enough for the frat-boy set to chew on and swallow without getting choked.

“So they sold out?”

So help me I will sickle you where you stand. If by sell-out you mean making a kick-ass rock record containing songs that would easily fit in a rock radio play list in between AC/DC and Wolfmother, then yes. Sell-out as in making a corporate record designed to sell blue jeans or Lexuses? No. From Beale Street to Oblivion is, much like every album they’ve made since Transnational Speedway League, a wholly organic and rockin’ affair. The stoner riffs have been toned down a notch from the past couple of albums in favor of a more straight-up bluesy sound all the while retaining a hint of their new-found gospel goodness from Robot Hive/Exodus. From opening track “You Can’t Stop Progress” to closer “Mr. Shiny Cadillackness”, Clutch hits you over the head with boogie riffs, a more relaxed back-beat, and some wicked guitar solos. Oh yeah, and there’s some harmonica to boot. Lyrically, it’s anyone’s guess what the hell singer Neil Fallon is talking about. But that’s always been part of their brilliance. Clutch is one of the few, if not the only, bands capable of singing about such ridiculous topics as robots, Star Wars, bounty hunters, tractors, or shoguns, and not sound silly. While I have not had time to dissect the lyrics as carefully as I will, what little I have picked up is typical Fallon. In other words, complete nonsense, but brilliant nonsense nonetheless. All that said, there is no reason why the layman should not be able to pick this record up as be hooked immediately.

“Okay, so for all this ass-kissing, you say this probably won’t go down as their best yet? Why?”

Okay, here’s the deal. For a Clutchophile such as myself, the album falls just a smidge short of the brilliance of Blast Tyrant. While it is consistently good from start to finish, I shy away just a little from calling it great. There is a bit of sameness to some of the songs, particularly in riffing. While the band has had a definitive and identifiable sound for years, some of the guitar work sounds just a tad recycled at times. According to the eco-nuts out there recycling is a good thing, but in this case it makes some of the tracks blur together on occasion, though I’m sure repeat listening will cure that. On the first 5-6 times I’ve listened, however, I’d have a hard time telling some of the songs apart. Even on Robot Hive/Exodus, which gave us a couple of the worst songs the band has ever done (“Circus Maximus” anyone?), there were several songs that upon first listen made you stop and say “Goddamn these guys are awesome.” Unfortunately there are no real instant classics on Beale Street, no real standouts like “The Mob Goes Wild” or “10001110101” that floor the Gearheads right out of the gate. That being said, I’m sure within the next few weeks after my 10,000th listen to the new disc, I’ll probably be singing its praises as a work of unparalleled brilliance. They have a habit of growing on you that way.

“So what are you saying, exactly?”

What I’m saying, imaginary adversary is that if you’ve never heard Clutch before or if you’ve never been exactly floored by them before, give this one a spin. I have a hunch it might be more to your liking. If you’re already a Clutch fan, you’re going to buy it anyway, so it really doesn’t matter anyway. You pretty much know what you’re going to get out of it: A slab of pure rock fury that will satisfy your urge for new Clutch tunes.