Dryvetyme Onlyne

Clock Hands Strangle
Distaccati
Chocolate Lab; 2009

From the outset of the eleven-song project that is Distaccati, Clock Hands Strangle struggles mightily to grab the horns of retro-cool country rock and wrestle it to the ground. Sadly, despite the band’s best intentions and superb musical acumen, I feel that the band has been bested by its subject. The record oozes with rambling roots rock, bleating horn sections, and an appropriately lonesome and forlorn sounding vocalist, to great effect at times. Despite the right components being play, it’s just a bit too unfocused and scattershot in my estimation.

I’m all for a band like Clock Hands Strangle looking to explore the past in order to shed the trendy trappings of contemporary indie rock. Sometimes you have to look into what’s gone on before in order to how to move ahead on the right path. Distaccati looks to merge jangling Modest Mouse-type energy with a generous portion of old-school country and dashes of cow-punk and ‘50s rock, something the record achieves on the standout tracks “Desert Music” and “As Is” with great success. Yet, as best displayed on “New York” and “Ode To Green,” the band’s sound becomes an unfortunately jumbled amalgam of influences (including various shout-outs to Walt Whitman).

Excellent guitar work serves as the backbone of these songs, much to my delight. Depending on the feel being sought after, the dueling guitar lines could growl, strut, shuffle, and amble with the necessary amounts of fervor, ardor, angst, or melancholy. However, when the second half of the record starts borrowing too heavily from Bright Eyes (including the vocal techniques, lyrical content, pacing of the song structure, and Dylan-esque harmonica), things takes a rather disappointing turn for the average.

Distaccati comes across as the result of Clock Hands Strangle watching the whole of Deadwood over the course of a long weekend and then deciding to channel ‘40s-‘50s country and rock music in an attempt to pay homage to the band’s romanticized image of the Old West. While such an effort is glorious when it’s first concocted, the vision wasn’t quite borne to full fruition. There’s music aplenty for a great barroom brawl, but the mournful, front-porch-sitting tunes just aren’t quite what they need to be.

Maybe I’m being too hard on Clock Hands Strangle here, but I can hear the potential being squandered on this record. I wanted to hear shades of Hank Williams, Sr. or Johnny Cash peek out into the songs, as the sad songs never truly punch me in the gut like they attempt to do. The band is brimming with energy, vigor, and talent, but it needs to harness its dreams, plans, and direction more effectively on future releases.