They hail from Belgium, the country of Stella Artois and those tasty little waffles, but don’t be fooled folks. Cloon is more twisted and sadistic than Rasputin raping nuns in a preschool. Cloon’s self-titled debut is an eclectic mixtures of dirty guitar riffs, hellish bass lines and dank vocals that leave the listener wondering why these guys haven’t made it big on the rock scene already. They are a fucking talented foursome.
Cloon’s opening track, “Non Believer,” begins with this bouncy, perusing bass line that sets the tone for the album. It’s a playful and bizarre trek through the underworld, but “Non Believer” gives us exactly what we expect from a young rock band – overdriven guitar and belting vocals that lead into a catchy chorus.
Throughout the other four tracks, Cloon’s rock weaponry is showcased in prime form. From he otherworldly “Armagedumb,” a song that puts Cloon’s finger on the ominous “red button,” to “Phantom Days,” panic including Toolish examination of insanity.
Seriously though, the gems on this album are “Burn Rubber Blues” and “Green on the Red.” “Burn Rubber Blues” is a departure from the head-smashing rock that anchors the rest of the album. For lack of a better term, it pushes toward “gypsy rock,” which comes very close to GoGol Bordello’s “gypsy punk.” At first, I have to admit; I thought Gene Hutz was leading the band. “Burn Rubber Blues” has this quirky downbeat that’s addictive to the ear. Unfortunately the track is just under three minutes. I would love to see more like this from Cloon.
“Green on the Red” begins with a Spartanesque monologue saying more or less, “You’re fucking sweet and all, but it’s time to fucking run because something nasty is coming.” This song really displays front man Tom Claus’s ability to turn up the grime. He’s on a fine line between a Tom Waits gurgle and the clarity of Morrison, and it works for him. It’s a dangerous game to be playing.
The impressive aspect of this album is Cloon’s ability to mesh with different styles and formats while keeping them innately Cloony. As with most freshman albums, the band is given a chance to discover more about itself musically. Given the eclectic nature of this album, I’ll go out on a little limb here and say Cloon is still trying to nail down precisely what they want to become. God, I hope they stick with songs in the same warped vein as “Burn Rubber Blues,” which just plain, flat-out rocks it. Check ‘em out.
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