With a canvas, on the set, and in the studio. It’s the three hallmarks of art. Most will pick one. A handful will maintain a strong grasp of two. Few, if anyone, can do all three. Just take a listen to Jim Carrey covering Radiohead and leaf through his paintings. David Lynch, the veteran film director, was a master of all trades. Much of the interest in Crazy Clown Time, his 2012 album release, comes from what you make of the man’s movies. If you enjoy the eccentricity and lucid state of that stream of consciousness thrill, then you can find little specks of it throughout Crazy Clown Time. What is there and what is just a forced interpretation of an artist we pigeonhole into the weird and wild, is tough to understand. For an artist who worked in the realm of the unexpected, when it comes to his music, you can predict somewhat where it’s going to head.
Those darker tones are not just an inevitability but a necessity. Karen O features on the first track and makes for an excellent collaborator for Lynch. A wilder side, a lucidity, is what she brings on Pinky’s Dream. It’s the electronic style, the darker flourishes which Pixies had used decades ago, which Lynch brings here. His segue from Pinky’s Dream into Good Day Today is subtle and effective, as all transitions from song to song should be. Moody moments throughout, all backed by the ghostly whisper Lynch provides with his vocal work. It’s a nice touch, though it never captures the energy or thrill of Pinky’s Dream. What follows is more an experimentation, an hour-long soundboard where Lynch moulds ideas which, under his direction, would work on-screen as much as they do in the studio. Noah’s Ark highlights these meditations best of all. Lynch is not just fiddling around. He has a clear intention of where these songs are headed, and which will be left open-ended.
With Dean Hurley backing him across this album, Lynch manages to find a tremendous, sinister niche. Crazy Clown Time depends entirely on how much interest you have in Lynch. The instrumentals are slowed, stripped-back and often there solely to back a vocal style the veteran director wishes to trial. Football Game does just that, with Lynch sounding as though he has a mouthful of cherry pie as he splutters into the microphone. It will add to the mood for some; it will be a waste of time for others. Those in the latter camp are likely looking for a straight bit of music, rather than a concept, a sound of promise. That’s what Crazy Clown Time offers often, though it never breaks through as a standout example of how these moods can be conjured in the studio.
Crazy Clown Time is the sum of Lynch’s parts. It has the transcendental meditation nod on Strange and Unproductive Thinking, a borderline advertisement for the practice given through an unfocused mind, challenging the sinister guitar riffs and tapping percussion. The album also features those usual, darker tones, which, while not always a certainty for Lynch on-screen, would become a particular characteristic of his style. It’ll be a little too ridiculous for some. Lynch was often capable of pushing the boundaries of what an audience could expect, but he does struggle to maintain that same style here. Later songs on the album feature much the same tone and style, the unproductive thinking and everyday tensions extracted and moulded into something much larger than they are. Lynch was a master of that, and while his album work struggles to pull on those same threads, when it does get a firm grip, it’s a thrilling listen.
