I imagine the title of this record, a tour souvenir collecting material recorded between 1991 and 1996, as an answer to an angry father's shouted question about the infernal racket coming from a teenager's bedroom. "What is that shite, Alasdair?!" Of course, this being the Clientele, the racket isn't so loud; it probably sounded rather soothing coming through the cracks in the door as the rest of the family went around their business. Even at this early stage the Clientele could write tightly constructed but wistful melodies, and with whatever crude 4-track set-up they had going they knew how to circle every instrument, voices included, with a warm aura of echoing loveliness.
During these embryonic years the Clientele included Innes Phillips, who eventually went his own way with his band the Relict. It's Art Dad roughly alternates songs by Phillips and current Clientele leader Alasdair MacLean. The pair obviously shared a vision but Phillips' flatter tone occasionally alludes to a more gothic road not taken. On "Graven Wood" for example, his croon oddly calls up a grim world, vaguely referencing the sort of icy remove invented by the Velvet Underground. When MacLean follows next with "Dear Jennifer", with its pop melody and opening lines "Dear Jennifer, do you remember, fields of golden grain? Where butterflies and evening sunlight circle 'round again?" we return safely to the familiar warm nostalgia Clientele eventually perfected.
That's what early experiments are for, though-- trying things on to see what fits. Fortunately, the appeal of It's Art Dad extends beyond the archeological. No matter the band, expectations should always be low for an album's worth of songs recorded before any officially released material and then shelved for almost 10 years. But some of these songs are still surprisingly great. The effortless tunefulness of "St Paul's Beneath a Sinking Sky" and "Elm Grove Window" argue that great songwriters are born not made; either could be spruced up and worked into an album as good as Strange Geometry. And "February Moon", a brooding mood piece with just guitar and voice, is almost shocking in the power of its affect, considering the level of technological sophistication that went into it.
It helps that the Clientele's aesthetic suffers little from lo-fi interpretation. Drums can be nothing more than a ride cymbal and snare rim tap and still work; guitars manage to ring through the hiss and compression; voices are channeled through a guitar amp with the reverb cranked to simulate classic AM radio production. The pinched and distant aspect of Clientele's sound still signifies on a 4-track, even when the songs aren't up to snuff (both "August Sky" and "The Words We Knew" are sub-B-side quality, a few more are only slightly more inspiring). For fans only? Of course-- it's a tour-only release. As they go, this is a good one.
