In Defense of Clarence Clarity by A Noah Harrison
Early this March, London-based musician Clarence Clarity released his debut, No Now, to a world of clear confusion. What distinguishes Clarence’s music from that of his peers in the experimental R&B circuit is his no holds barred approach to sound-seeking. Like the danceable beats of contemporaries Jai Paul and Autre Ne Veut, Clarence waxes sleek and sexy, but glazes his works with something far more sinister. In fact, his tunes seem ideologically aligned with the likes of vaporwave, projecting a complex stance on the Information Age and the hyper-globalization of the present day. Likewise, the visual style of his music videos—the gouged out eyes of Justin Timberlake on a magazine cover in “Bloodbarf”—speaks to his love-hate relationship with mass-produced excess in the digital era. In an implosion of gigabytes and latex, he foists upon us the oppressive weight of information immediately available to us with a wireless connection. The music oscillates between the unabashedly pop melodies of *NSYNC and the progressive compositions of Oneohtrix Point Never, generally without warning. Clarence effortlessly combines influences to the point where all real genre labels fly out the window: electropop, hip-hop, and metal all blend uncannily into one. The product makes us feel like pigs sloshing around in our slop, but enjoying it. His repeated “Oops!” in “Those Who Can’t, Cheat” strongly evokes a pig-tailed Britney Spears, circa 2000, while getting at something far murkier, and its South Asian-tinged breakdown affirms the possibility of cultural appropriation with the click of a mouse. The man takes squeaky-clean hooks and enshrouds them in soul-crunching, bit-crushing production, all pointing to his great propensity to glitch out. In doing so, he forms a more honest depiction of the technology that can either tamed into corporate pop submission or given free reign to spit and sputter to its heart’s content. He reminds us that the same sound systems
that spill chrome-plated R&B into the urban malls of America also amplify the tradition of Western art music. In a recent interview with the BBC, Clarence spoke of a few musicians on his musical plate. The first was whacko blues performer Captain Beefheart; the second, he said almost sheepishly, was Miley Cyrus. Indeed, he effectively bridges the worlds of the avant-garde and manufactured pop in a strange resurrection of cultural detritus. He may really be onto something in “Off My Grid” when he tells us, “I fell off my grid,” as he truly has set himself outside any existing pop framework. With even a cursory listen, it becomes readily apparent that Clarence doesn’t intend his music to grace the same food courts that inspired it. No Now may however serve as a nice realm of exploration for anyone curious about the alternate realities of art pop troubadours like Animal Collective or Yeasayer, or perhaps those liberated from a decade cryogenic capture with nothing but late-’90s pop to keep them sane. If you do give in, prepare to hear all that’s right and wrong with global capitalism stewing together in beautifully disgusting harmony.
