Rock Report: Clutch Live @ The Village

So last night I went down to The Village at Asher and University to attend a concert by Clutch, one of my favorite bands ever. Clutch is one of those bands whose music is hard to define, which in the age of cookie-cutter emo-Metal and mass-produced rubber-stamp power pop is nothing short of the highest compliment. If forced to come up with a description, I'd have to call them "Southern-tinged groove-oriented stoner rock with witty, literate lyrics and a raw, grungy flair," though even that falls short of what these guys bring to the table. I've been a fan since catching their early hardcore video "A Shogun Named Marcus" on Beavis and Butthead back in the early 90s, and since then they've just got better and better with every album, refining their sound and carving out a niche that no other band can really occupy. I'm a bit of an evangelist for them, actually, and have exposed several friends and coworkers to their music, gaining converts along the way. One of these acolytes, my old friend Nathan, accompanied me to the show.

The Village used to be Little Rock cinematic landmark The Cinema 150, and the repurposing as a live music venue is really pretty cool. The stadium seating remains, but where once I watched Indiana Jones steal treasures while scary Nazi faces the size of blimps melted before my terrified young eyes, now they've got a neat stage with lighting scaffolds and an amply-sized mosh pit. They sell BBQ and other snacks from the old concession stand (though not last night, for some reason), and where the tickets used to be punched they had set up a t-shirt table and, strangely, an oxygen bar. Smoking is not allowed in the venue, but a chain-linked area accessible from inside is available for nicotine addicts. Approaching the building from the parking lot, Nathan and I saw several bikers and metal dudes behind the fence, puffing and snarling like Dobermans from Hell. They sell beer and Jaegermeister shots too, right there in the theater area.

The opening band was Sweden's Kamchatka, a trio who played almost exclusively blues and Southern Rock jams. I'd never heard of them before, but these guys were TIGHT. They barelled through a very impressive 40-minute set, with many extended jam sessions that were always entertaining for their groove and technical virtuosity. The guitarist and bassist traded off lead vocals, and both had very soulful singing voices despite their thick Scandinavian accents when speaking. The guitar player wore thick glasses and a beret and looked like a bit character in a Woody Allen movie, but dude could wail. And the bassist has to be one of the boniest men I have ever seen in my life--instead of holding up a lighter, I wanted to throw the guy a sandwich; still, his impressively shiny, flowing locks distracted somewhat from his emaciation. He was an excellent player, and his tight harmonies with the guitarist along with his great voice won the crowd over in a big way--especially one dude right up front who kept trying to hand him a half-empty beer during their scorching cover of the Allman Brothers' "Whipping Post." Dude, he's busy! Wait for the break!

Anyway, expect to hear good things from these guys. Nate was so impressed he bought both their CDs from the merch table before their set was even over. I don't think he was the only one, either.

Clutch were great too. They played a little bit of everything, from their earlier hardcore-type stuff to their most recent ZZ-Top on steroids jams from the album From Beale Street to Oblivion. They didn't play as many songs as I'd have liked from my favorite Clutch CD, Robot Hive/Exodus, though that's understandable perhaps since their keyboardist was mysteriously missing, and many of those songs rely heavily on his playing. Frontman Neill Fallon delivered his witty, hilarious lyrics with a grim expression and a revival preacher's flair, making for quite a theatrical presentation. The real standout, though, was drummer Jean-Paul Gaster, who made a four-piece kit sound absolutely MONSTROUS. He did a lot of jamming and more than one drum solo, but again I was never really bored--dude's an artist. Guitarist Tim Sult has a loose, grungy blues style that fits the songs great, although when the band went on several extended jams his limits started to show--especially after the virtuosity of Kamchatka's axeman. Toward the end of the show the band started looking a little worn-out, not surprising given their relentless tour schedule and high-energy opening. They made the crowd earn the encore with several minutes of yelling and clapping, then played one long instrumental jam and called it a night. That was a little off-putting to me--they hadn't played signature songs like "Pure Rock Fury" or "A Shogun Named Marcus," so the crowd was hoping for those, and what they delivered seemed almost designed to bring down the adrenaline level and send everyone home mellow. But again, perhaps road fatigue played a part.

All in all a great show--got to see a favorite band live, and discovered a new great group. Double-score!

Of course at any rock concert one of the main draws is the people-watching, and in this case the Village crowd did not disappoint. I was a little afraid that I would be the old creepy dude in the audience full of young rockers, but a lot of the crowd looked about my age, and there were plenty of folks there who were MUCH older and MUCH creepier than I. The rock-show eccentrics were out too:

• One dude in an insane ringmaster-style tux jacket (over jeans and a Western pearl-buttoned dress shirt) earned my respect with his willingness to pursue his style in the face of what must have been withering ridicule. If he'd pulled out a flattened top hat and popped it open with a flourish before settling it on his thin, spiked hair, I'd have bought him a beer.

• I saw several sternum-length beards and eyed their owners enviously.

• One acrobatic fan shimmied to the top of the lighting scaffold during Clutch's second number, and stood up on top of it--well over 30 feet above the concrete floor, gyrating drunkenly to the groove. A sense of impending fatality gripped the crowd as security moved in. Luckily he came down without dying and was ushered out by security, probably wishing he'd waited at least a few more songs before going all Spider-Man on us.

• The requisite mosh-pit brawl broke out, leading to many hard feelings between one fan and a highly-strung security guy who paced up and down the aisles like a panther after the fight was over, obviously working off the adrenaline.

Anyway, it was a great time, I don't think anybody got seriously hurt, and it was much easier to get out of the Village parking lot than Barton Colosseum. (Leaving, we passed near the old site of the Asher drive-in, and the strip mall that used to house the University Quartet cinema--I'd forgotten what a movie-going mecca Asher and University used to be, and it made me nostalgic.) I'd definitely go again if another band I liked came through. If the late-fifties biker with waist-length hair, inch-deep wrinkles, and leather pants taught me anything, it's that you're never too old to rock.

Well, at least I'm not.

Yet.