Liverpool's Clinic may be known as much for their penchant for performing in hospital scrubs as for the melodies they're able to find in sonic dissonance. But in an age when we see Justin Bieber's abs and Rihanna's hip tattoos as much as we hear their songs, perhaps a little mystery — a little disconnection and mystique— can be downright refreshing. Or it can just really piss people off.
"Wearing the scrubs was always intended as a joke — unfortunately, one where a lot of people missed the punch line," says Carl Turney, Clinic's drummer and keyboard player. "I agree the masks do create a barrier, but that inevitably leads to a more intense focus on the music."
Clinic was formed in 1997 by Ade Blackburn and Jonathan Hartley. Their ability to weave off-kilter arrangements with jittery beats and inventive construction has long been as much avant-garde jazz as psychedelic post-punk, and early on, Clinic's sound caught the attention of Thom Yorke. The singer brought Clinic along on Radiohead's tour shortly after the release of 2000's Internal Wrangler. Since then, Clinic has released seven more albums via Domino (including 2002's stellar Walking With Thee, which, in a rare feat of good judgment and awareness by the academy, was nominated for a Best Alternative Music Grammy) that have pushed the boundaries of rhythm, toying with quirky, vintage instruments (often scavenged at flea markets) and synths. All the while, Clinic continued recording to analog tape. It's a contradiction that fits the band — they make the case that even the most modern of toys needs to be treated with an old-school hand.
"In some ways it's better to be limited by technology so you are forced to make decisions at every stage about how the songs are sounding," says Turney. "With digital recording and mixing methods, there is almost too much room for maneuver, and it's very easy to end up with a homogenized version of a song devoid of any real character. It's very hard to re-create the inherent character of a real instrument, electronic or acoustic."
Of course, Clinic's inherent sound is nowhere near homogenized — it's a contrast to their image, which, despite some slight variation from album to album, stays fairly consistent. More a nod to anonymous experimental performance and art collective The Residents than cock-rockin' megalomaniacs KISS, the scrubs form an interesting paradox: You're listening to a band you'd never have a shot at recognizing on the street, but their music has a strongly identifiable fingerprint.
Still, those masks: They're worn ostensibly to place the emphasis on the music rather than the musicians, and here we are fixating on the masks. It's enough to make a fan want to rush the stage, rip them off and just move past the "costume" phase once and for all. Except that doesn't seem to be in the cards. "It has been discussed many times about ditching the masks," says Turney, "but then what's the alternative?"
That doesn't mean Clinic is opposed to breaking routine. For 2012's Free Reign (recently re-released as Free Reign II), the band decided to produce the album independently — free, so to speak, of any external forces or "reign" of contrasting ideas.
"It was intended as a way to jettison excess baggage and move forward in a more radical way," says Turney. "This album is more about an atmosphere — it sounds to me a lot more immersive. The songs are given a chance to breathe and extend."
The result is a looser, trippier version of where they've been — a glimpse into what might have happened had Jim Morrison written "The End" in 2013. Or 2023, for that matter.
For this, their first outing to Nashville, Clinic isn't opposed to scrounging around in our second-hand shops and flea markets for used instruments: It's been a while since they've scavenged a conventional musical item, but, notes Turney, "I recently found a place in the U.K. that sells 25-second loop cassettes that I think are going to come in very handy."
We don't doubt it.
Email music@nashvillescene.com.
