Clutch were originally supposed to play the Élysée Montmartre back in December, only for the show to be postponed a matter of hours before doors due to a sudden illness within the band. Such last-minute cancellations inevitably leave a bitter taste, but they also create a certain expectation when the makeup date finally arrives. Six months later, both band and audience seemed determined to make up for lost time. The crowd greeted Clutch like old friends returning from a long absence, and the band responded with the sort of performance that suggested they felt they owed Paris something. Their blend of blues, groove, hard rock and sheer heaviness has always possessed a communal quality, but on this particular evening the connection between stage and audience felt especially strong. Gratitude flowed freely in both directions, giving extra weight to songs that hardly needed any.
Perhaps that is why Paris was treated to a new song. Is “The Drifter Returns” a sequel to “The Drifter” from the Jam Room era? The question will no doubt keep dedicated fans occupied, but this is hardly the moment for lengthy analysis of Clutch's sprawling catalogue or reflections on a thirty-five-year career. There will be time for that later. Right now, it is time to rock, motherfucker. Time to bang your head, spill your beer, scream yourself hoarse and lose yourself in those gloriously heavy, groovy, blues-soaked riffs. Clutch have always operated on a deeply physical level. Their music is raw and primal, bypassing the intellect almost entirely to land somewhere much lower in the anatomy.
Thirty-three years after the release of their debut album, and with the same four musicians still standing shoulder to shoulder on stage, Clutch remains an anomaly. In an industry obsessed with reinvention, nostalgia and short attention spans, they have simply continued doing their own thing, carving out a sound and an identity so singular that no one has ever managed to imitate them convincingly. Their success was never inevitable. Plenty of great bands remain cult favourites forever, and plenty of innovative artists never find an audience beyond a small circle of devotees. Yet here they are, filling concert halls thousands of miles from home, their songs greeted like old friends and their newest material welcomed with the same enthusiasm as the classics.
Heavy metal has produced countless virtuosos, larger-than-life frontmen and technically flawless bands. Clutch chose a different path: no costumes, no mythology, no grand concept, no attempt to fit neatly into any particular scene, but four musicians following their instincts for more than three decades and, in the process, building one of the most distinctive catalogues in American hard rock. Their songs speak their own language, equal parts truck-stop philosophy, bluesman machismo, absurdist humor and working-class poetry. Sometimes an entire worldview can be distilled into a single chorus.
Bang bang bang. Vámonos, vámonos.
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SETLIST:
(+ new song "The Drifter Returns" and "Abraham Lincoln" played after "Red Alert (Boss Metal Zone)")
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