Clinton
Disco and the Halfway to Discontent
(Astralwerks/Luaka Bop)
For side project Clinton, Tjinder Singh and Ben Ayres have posted an "out to lunch" sign in the window of their Cornershop. Like previous Cornershop albums, particularly 1998's groundbreaking When I Was Born for the 7th Time, Clinton's debut album is a true mélange of musical styles, instruments, and eras. But the album isn't jaded by the trappings of musical maturity, nor does it conform to Cornershop's more mainstream groove aesthetic. Instead, Clinton takes the quirkiness and flexibility of the Cornershop persona and adds a little fresh chaos and studio weirdness to it, as well as plenty of dance floor beats.
Just as Singh and Ayres' previous work has explored race issues -- the duo are Indians living in England -- Clinton asks the listener to ponder and analyze a bit. While not exactly a discourse on disco, some of the tracks nonetheless point their finger at self-obsessed disco culture. The first track, "People Power in the Disco Hour," questions the mindlessness of the dance floor and demands that we "get this disco heat on the streets." On "Electric Ice Cream (Miami Jammies)," the pair criticize the politics of the music industry -- namely producers and bigwig DJs -- deriding "management honky-tonk" and the "crooked asses" of DJs. "To all the A&Rs," they quip, "there's a lot of mileage in cars."
Still, Clinton isn't attempting to be the Dylan of dance, let alone its Rage Against the Machine. Disco is more an expert fluke by two guys having an extended fiddle with the knobs in the studio and a twiddle with the instruments lined up against the walls. Whether or not those buttons, instruments, or genres have meshed in the past, the result here is a rainbow of musicmaking tools: The tamboura, sitar, harmonium, percussion, turntables, and other instruments form a symbiotic medley of Eastern and Western musical influences.
Though often batty or just plain weird, like "Sing Hosanna," a rhythm-heavy track with a keyboard loop of the familiar Sunday school tune, or the confused, scratched-up 60-second ditty "Mr. President," the project is inarguably innovative in its questioning and exploration of roots. "Buttoned Down Disco" strolls through the heady disco and funk of a '70s dance floor, boasting funk with ska undertones. And "Hip Hop Bricks" is an appeal to the "brothers and sisters," with an urban street theme narrated by a disturbing vocoder voice. Weaved congruously throughout are Indian strings and ethnic percussion, something like what might be heard full-volume on an Indian bus overflowing with people and animals on a sweltering Southeast Asian night. Perhaps there's a point at which East and West can meet after all.
