Somewhere in the town where you live is a middle-aged man who's been in a band since his late teens. His belly wobbles around under his too-tight, stained white tank top and his oil-slicked hair is tied up in a ponytail. To pay the bills, he does sound at the local bar. He hangs out at the local record store, selling off his old vinyl with disclaimers like "we almost opened for them once," and "yeah, I heard that his sister was really into the band." He doesn't have a family, aside from the four other middle-aged men he hangs out with on weekends and the drummer's 13-year-old nephew, who they recruited when their old rhythm guitarist moved to Arizona. This man likes beer. He likes Led Zeppelin. And although he's never heard of Clinic, he fucking hates them.

The world is full of aging, frustrated career musicians who've struggled their whole lives to write a single song that doesn't sound like AC/DC's "Big Balls." And yet, only one proper album into their careers, Clinic managed to accomplish several of the most coveted goals of rock musicians: they amassed a small but fiercely dedicated following, received almost unanimous critical praise from the likes of John Peel, and they toured with one of the most successful bands in the world. Perhaps most importantly (and most impressively), they had utterly mastered their art.

Internal Wrangler sounded as good as an album like Internal Wrangler could possibly sound-- and Internal Wrangler was the only album that sounded like Internal Wrangler. Having conquered their own unique brand of dirty, beautifully awkward garage rock, Clinic was left to seek out new castles to storm. With Walking with Thee, they venture towards a darker, more mythical castle, but seem stuck halfway between their past victories and their new aspirations.

Lyrically and musically, this album is darker and more austere than its predecessor. While Internal Wrangler seemed to radiate an immediate nervous energy, Walking with Thee is much more detached. "Harmony" opens the record promisingly, with a spooky electric piano and hypnotic bassline providing a backdrop for Ade Blackburn's nasal, reptilian vocals. Here, the combination of Blackburn's more withdrawn (and more decipherable) vocal delivery and the similarly lucid production works wonderfully. The song's ethereal refrain of "fill yourself with dreams" is absolutely haunting, and one of the greatest moments Clinic has laid to tape.

"The Equaliser," one of four songs from this album performed in August of 2000 on John Peel's radio show (and later retitled), begins to incorporate the more dynamic, pulsating energy of Internal Wrangler with a new, darker side of Clinic, but never follows through. The moment when all the instruments cut out and Blackburn intones, "We hoped for the best and the best then we left so," is absolutely fantastic. But the rest of the song never goes much of anywhere. "Welcome," once known as "The Jouster," sounds like it could have been taken directly off of Internal Wrangler, but the absence of the rough energy that helped make that album so incredible leaves "Welcome" feeling a bit limp by comparison.

The album's title track also bears a very strong resemblance to the band's earlier work-- but the song itself is so good that it would be hard to levy any kind of serious complaint against it. With a driving beat, trademark fuzzy organ and bass arrangement, and some of the most urgently mumbly vocals to be found on the album, "Walking with Thee" is a short, sweet reminder of what made Clinic so great in the first place. Sadly, the same can't be said for "Pet Eunoch" and "Mr. Moonlight," which sound almost like carbon copies of Internal Wrangler's "Hippy Death Suite" and "Earth Angel," respectively.

Again utilizing a repeating electric piano figure, "Come Into Our Room" sounds a bit like a more subdued version of "Harmony." The same electric piano is coupled with the exact bassline from "Voodoo Wop," to limited effect. "Sunlight Bathes Our Home" opens with a slight variation on the opening of Internal Wrangler's title track, played by a clarinet. Internal Wrangler was an album rich with contrast-- wherever there was a steady, fuzzed-out organ, there was a shifty bassline or syncopated drumbeat to underscore it. This masterful arrangement left the album with a slightly unsettling sense of perpetual motion that seems underplayed a bit on this record.

Finally, with its closing track, Walking with Thee picks up where "Harmony" left off. On "For the Wars," Clinic recaptures the cold, haunting aesthetic that makes the album's opening track so engaging-- this time as a ballad, instead of as a jittery rock number. Dreamy guitars, reverb-soaked background vocals, and some of Ade Blackburn's most affecting lyrics to date make "For the Wars" a perfect realization of the newer, more crystalline elements of Clinic's sound.

It's pretty much a given that most bands work largely from formula. If the band is good, odds are they're working from a self-composed formula, rather than taking cues entirely from their influences. If they're really good, they can mix things up enough to keep their formula from becoming transparent. On Internal Wrangler, and the better parts of Walking with Thee, Clinic managed to be distinctive without ever sounding formulaic. In parts of this album's squishy middle, though, Clinic seems far too comfortable relying upon the melodies of songs they've already written.

Ultimately, Walking with Thee is neither an album of triumph nor of disappointment. Its first and last tracks hint at a new direction for Clinic that could, if fully realized, become something utterly brilliant. Yet, much of this record remains stuck between the raw vitality of Internal Wrangler and the detached, haunting beauty that's hinted at on "For the Wars" and "Harmony." Thankfully, the album is less of a tragic misstep than an awkward straddle. And at this point, there's very little doubt that Clinic are perfectly capable of turning awkwardness into brilliance.

-Matt LeMay, February 26th, 2002