Band:	Clutch
Album:	Blast Tyrant
Style:	Hard rock, Stoner rock
Release date:	2004
Guest review by:	wormdrink414

01. Mercury
02. Profits Of Doom
03. The Mob Goes Wild
04. Cypress Grove
05. Promoter (Of Earthbound Causes)
06. The Regulator
07. Worm Drink
08. Army Of Bono
09. Spleen Merchant
10. (In The Wake Of) The Swollen Goat
11. Weathermaker
12. Subtle Hustle
13. Ghost
14. (Notes From The Trial Of) La Curandera
15. Wysiwyg

One should not make a habit of reviewing things he loves. Love, in its indescribable way, might well fall into the category of the irrational - alongside nostalgia and fear of brooms, no doubt. An album reviewer's goal should be to do the impossible: to write objectively about what is entirely subjective (I think the number of Summoning fans here is testament to this distressing fact). Let me do what too many do already, and turn to a rather ironic quote from Two Gentlemen of Verona: "Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words." Nevertheless, as that 10 to the side of this text blindingly illuminates, I will here be writing about an album that I love.

Splashes of southern-rock, blasts of blues, flicks of funk, and grips of groove-metal make Clutch's Blast Tyrant one of the most varied, and fun rock albums ever recorded. It smoothly navigates the swelling waves of mood in which so many recent rock albums have sank. If one is overwhelmed by the bluesy weight of "Regulator," the funky "Army of Bono" blows the album back onto its cool, amusing, and unimpeded rock-n-fucking-roll course. If the frequent literary allusions of the lyrics become an obstacle, a line like "Condoleezza Rice is nice, but I prefer A-Roni" (from maybe the most popular song on the album, "The Mob Goes Wild") will burn away at the weight. The smooth, unobstructed chunk of Tim Sult's riffs, the jazzy, high-hat heavy drumming of the under-appreciated Jean-Paul Gaster, the bass gravel of Neil Fallon's voice, and his capsule-compact lyrics add weight to what may feel, to some, like a floating, stoner-rock album. One might compare Blast Tyrant to a rock-n-roll smoothie; every fruitful genre from which rock has borrowed over its years is in it and is executed deliciously.

Whereas it seems to be something of a new rock staple to crunch philosophy and a sense of anomie into lyrics, the almighty Clutch says nay. Blast Tyrant isn't fun because it is light, however. Clutch doesn't fall for the temptation to rock out about how women are sex-objects, and how muscle cars are to be coveted. Neil Fallon?a true paramour of English?marries mythology (and yes, he includes Judeo-Christian stories in this category) with Americana, "spleen merchants" with war, and politics with microwaveable food. Clutch is willing to neither succumb to frivolity nor anomie. For this, they are to be cherished.

But rather than continue the attempt to communicate what exactly makes Blast Tyrant a work deserving of your love, I will simply recommend that you stop doing what you're doing?that means stop reading this?and either buy the album or YouTube it. Now.

* * *

I trust that your ears are trained well enough to recognize excellence when you hear it. If you haven't listened to Blast Tyrant yet, you aren't just missing out on the best rock-n-roll album from the aughts, you are missing out on some of the most fun jams, licks, and lyrics ever recorded and you have my pity.