One can practically hear the crickets chirping in Clearlake's songs, so sylvan is their dreamy brit-rock. Amber, the band's third album, pits ostentatious instrumentation against a druthers for fiery guitar squall, elements they've never meshed this harmoniously before. Frequently gorgeous but over-lubed, the album forges soundscapes so lush they're almost narcotic.
In a British rock scene suddenly governed by sexually frustrated Sheffield kids with a Lavigne-shallow understanding of the anvils on which they stand, Amber's yawns are a nice respite from the geeky frissons now being purveyed. The Hove foursome (bummer no Carters among them) come off mellow and sure-footed, maybe a little paternal. The band remembers life before Oasis, even before industrialization: Amber's best songs imagine atavistic, Tolkien-esque habitats, happily ignorant of history's looming smogsets. Even the title invites eco-friendly readings.
You'd expect any album with such profligate nods to nature, and how cool it is, and how the modern world is scary, of packing an ideological strain. But frontman Jason Pegg spouts lover's vitriol as diligently as he casts granola melancholy. Risking sounding like a crybaby on Christmas, "I Hate It That I Got What I Wanted" details a strange affliction: remorse over getting what one wants. Pegg's reasoning? "I don't want it anymore." Fair 'nuff. Yet the words don't bother so much as the way they're delivered, Pegg essaying uptempo snarl, getting smothered by those "whoa, dude, let it ring!" Road Rash guitars. Better is the topsy-turvy "It's Getting Light Outside", whose pistoning, tympani-heavy rhythm provides a good context for Pegg's nasally, overearnest sing-song. "You Can't Have Me", even softer-hued, plays fuzzy gegenschein to the more importunate yowlers; the Fennesz-wet upbeat guitar pulses can't not encourage nostalgic reverie.
Another way Amber foils expectations: For a band with such imaginative whimsy, Clearlake have a disappointingly staid invasion jones. "Finally Free" does its scuzziest nth-wave stomp, complete with tactical tambourine jiggles, aloof vox harmonies, and an insultingly simple guitar lick; cowbell's a continental aberration, probably a Pixies reference. Even worse is single "Neon", whose booming drum-and-harmonica rig wants to be Big & Rich, not fey British indie rockers. The album really shines when it's at its quietest, like when Pegg quavers trying to bridge the wide gap between "Dreamt That You Died"'s baggy guitar chords. Never mind the song recycles Cedars standout "Trees in the City", only this time on some macabre quasi-personal folderol, not the original's unambiguous anti-concrete screed. Plugged-in but still drowsy, "It's Getting Light Outside" is the real gem, though, mainly because it understands that volume does not equate to energy in recorded music: post-chorus guitar spikes provide a twist-of-lime kick without rising above library volume. A word to British rock in '06: The frissons are great, but let's have more yawns.
