GutterPutter

Lambchop is an American band built around the creative vision of their frontman Kurt Wagner from Nashville, Tennessee whose style is broadly linked to country music. Their debut in 1994 with I Hope You’re Sitting Down/Jack’s Tulips stands out from the rest through its sprinkles of orchestral backings which was then followed up with the more acclaimed 1996 release How I Quit Smoking. In combination with the more baritone vocals by frontman Kurt Wagner and an earnest wit in their songwriting, they come off as counterparts to their more British contemporary Tindersticks although the latter’s own style leans more closely with indie rock. Funnily enough, Tindersticks’s prototypical version as Asphalt Ribbons was more folkish in its direction which made it similar to Lambchop but it’s a bit of a digression on my end.

Relatively prolific in their discography, Lambchop had released 16 previous studio records aside from their debut with Nixon and Is a Woman being their other oft-cited masterpieces. Punching the Clown marked their latest release with a direction being set more towards Americana backing. Banjos take up the mantle of being the leading instrument from the intro that is ‘Just West of Nicollet’. Wagner, a noted storyteller when it comes to his lyrics, sings of his observations in a way that links to his ageing. While the figure of speeches are decent and the description proved vivid enough, there are moments that simply took you out of the listening experience. He mentioned Minnesota as “the whitest place that [he] found yet” before a hypeman comes through with the bar of “Freezing – Lambchop new shit!” It’s jarring in its inclusion to the point that you can’t help but need a double-take on whether you had just witnessed its sheer awkwardness. It truly comes off as a weird Baby Boomer edit.

Punching the Clown finds itself archetypical of the band’s style on the surface. Its production tends to sound clean and the instrumentation is largely acoustic-led. Yet, ‘Just West of Nicollet’ is among one of the many examples of songs in the tracklist that’s rife with what’s best described as eccentric creative decisions. Lambchop is no stranger to experimenting with more out-there elements into their music, but the way that they’ve implemented a lot of avant-garde elements into this album draws more attention to the deeper flaws surrounding it.

The first example surrounding Punching the Clown’s problems rest in the specific production choice that tries to elevate the record only to instead befuddle it to the point of kitschiness. Aside from the hypeman in ‘Just West of Nicollet’, the inclusion of the backing vocals feel jarring in the sense that it makes several tracks feel too loaded. It disrupts what would’ve been a more meditative listen. ‘Andrew Jackson Asshat’ and ‘Afterburner’ sought to ponder about mortality, yet the choral singing, beautiful as it sounds on the surface, bludgeons any serious opportunity to grasp the prospect of soon following the deceased. Meanwhile, the likes of ‘The New World Wave’ and ‘Cigar’ otherwise have a more alert kind of lyricism that deals with the Great Depression and labour struggle in a more potent manner. Yet they find themselves dulled by the layering of the vocals that distract from the premise in favour of coming off as pureetee.

The second example is on how off the lyrics feel in understating its premises. ‘A Doctor in the House’ used the eponymous job as a metaphor of a confidant amid a domestic crisis; its theme however falls flat over its rambling structure and extravagant choir-like outro. ‘Stella’ sought to paint a pastoral impression of a lost love that feels more sweet than bitter. It finds itself too dependent on the refrain of “Roll me over” to make itself feel poignantly serene to the point of annoyance. ‘White People’ especially has a kind of smugness that lectures on what appears to be life choices being made. It is so abstract however in that we never know who the addressee is in more detail and the stream-of-conscious ruminations being lacking in introspection.

The two key problems extrapolate over each other into a whole that comes off as having a veneer of pretension. Punching the Clown attempts to make itself come off as lush but its inability to iron out the broad issues mean that a few tracks appear to be a more tiresome listen than others. ‘No Chicago’ serves as the outro that document the places that Wagner had visited as per hinted in ‘Just West of Nicollet’ only to have little links between them that sums up the whole album. Throw in the usual backing layers of vocals and the song proves itself to be too stuffed. ‘To Do’ tries to mediate on having closure to life itself by completing basic tasks like watering the plant or painting a portrait of a loved one. Its lyrics in general lack the intimacy that comes with passing down wisdom and the choir loosens up on any personal connection. ‘Weakened’ hints toward an ill person who finds peace in comprehending his mortality; its redundant refrain of “the weaker souls” and the explosive hymn in the end weakens (pun unintended) the introspection that would have arisen from the song.

At least the title track is actually solid compared to the rest of the album. Written as a kind of ode to Wagner’s wife Mary Mancini, nearly everything about it goes by smoothly from the constraints of the album. The songwriting is able to hit the nice balance of personal and descriptive without going overboard with the metaphors, the banjo playing in the background adds a pleasant bit of authenticity to the relationship, and even the choir-like backing vocals doesn’t feel overdone. If anything, it has a nice bit of humour in swearing when Wagner seems to have lost track of his thought after his saying of “punching the clown”, presenting a more colloquial break from the album’s rigidly-maintained structure.

Punching the Clown is a strong example of an album that sounds pleasant on the surface only to find itself untangle and later unweave itself into a mess the more you pay attention to the finer details. The lyrics on the surface sounds wise and indeed possesses a poetic touch only to come off as incoherent or repetitive. The production too comes off as tranquil yet its heavy use of backing vocals and vocal layering besmirches any moment of intimacy or relatability felt on many of its themes. Fans of the band are likely to already make up their mind at this point to appreciate the record as a welcoming return. They are after all beloved for their early 2000s’ output which highlights some of their best works. Whether it’ll attract new ones with regard to recent output, it’ll most likely be a dud. At best, I recommend this record to those who simply want a pleasant-sounding record without needing to think too hard about the deeper level. Otherwise, you might have a better shot with Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie and Lowell for mortality, the Mountain Goats’ All Hail West Texas for our bond with certain settings, or Mateus Aleluia himself with regards to ageing.

1.4/5