AUDIO by David Spain
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Clutch 
Transnational Speedway League: Anthems, Anecdotes & Undeniable Truths 
(1993)

There was a time when I would flip to MTV late Saturday nights, and wait for one of the few programs worth watching on a station inundated with dreck – a show that would keep me up late enough that hockey practice the next morning bred complaints and surliness – the Ricky Rackman hosted Headbanger’s Ball. It was a time when metal still held some weight in this country, when the latest Megadeth album was a best seller and when finding another Pantera or Sepultura release sent tingles down my spine (or for that matter, finding those bands for the first time on that very show). It was a time when bands like Crowbar and Death debuted new videos, when Morbid Angel seemed taboo and Slayer were obviously evil men that could wail on their guitars like the demons they apparently worshipped.

I remember one fine evening quite vividly when a little band called Clutch released a video for their song "A Shogun Named Marcus." Monster trucks and all, the video was fairly pointless, if memory serves – mostly stock footage of shady people on a farm and large trucks crushing things – but the song, my god, the song. There was a time when Clutch kicked so much ass that it was best to listen to them in a group to offer more asses for the slapping. Ricky Rackman even commented on the perfection of metal and monster trucks mingling at long last.

The year was 1993, and I was early on in my high school career, just a little sprite trying to find my way socially while helping define my identity through music. The song was the first track on the disc Transnational Speedway League: Anthems, Anecdotes & Undeniable Truths, just one of 11 oddities that compile one of my favorite discs, even with more than 10 years past. 

I recall coaxing my mother to buy me the CD even though it had an unusual, purple parental warning label on the cover and feeling dirty for doing so. That week, the disc was circulated among friends and copied to tape, and I recall discussions in the computer lab during German class about how bizarre Clutch’s lyrics were. It’s true, not every band can pull off numbers about the apocalypse and popular cola beverages, rednecks holding Japanese royalty on the farm, or a song about the big city’s favorite rodent, the rat.

Clutch was not simply another metal band. They rocked hard, to be sure, but the key is that they could rock. Their formula wasn’t restricted to huge riffs and guitar solos, as evidenced by their progression from sludgy, post hardcore metal to a funk-rock outfit, retaining little of their musical sound save for the twangy guitars and Neil Fallon’s gravely vocals. Clutch was the type of band that bordered on exploding but managed to contain themselves in a sweaty, shaky mess; their power lessened considerably on their second album, and by their third, I was lost in a hundred other bands and sounds. 

Even though I’ve lost touch with their music, however, their first album receives its fair share of playing time when I’m feeling a bit nostalgic – when I can’t stop singing lines like "Yes, I'm a New World Samurai, and a redneck nonetheless," or when I feel like kicking a little backside in the hollows of my mind.

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