Friday Full-Length: Clamfight, Clamfight
Posted in Bootleg Theater on May 16th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
This is out today. It is Clamfight’s fourth full-length and very much a self-titled in the tradition of a band declaring themselves as a group. It’s self-released, and it comes seven years after their last record, III. I reviewed that album. I could probably review this one too, and talk about the tones in Sean McKee’s and Joel Harris’ guitars or the former’s e’er vigilant shred, the punch Louis Koble brings to “Dragonhead,” drummer/vocalist Andy Martin’s duet with Oldest Sea’s Samantha Marandola in “Brodgar,” or the fact that across seven songs and 43 minutes the band manage to turn riffy burl-rock into a platform for a mostly-not-toxic expression of masculine love — that is, their love for each other — with an emotional honesty that resonates even beyond the heartstring-pull of the eponymous “Clamfight”‘s guest vocal spot from Steve Murphy of Kings Destroy.
I’m also on that track, on “Clamfight,” screaming like a jerk, but even more than that — I was fortunate enough to meet engineer Steve Poponi, who recorded this and helmed everything else Clamfight has released to-date, before he passed away in 2023 — it’s the emotional honesty of the thing I want to highlight. Why on earth, in talking about an album that so much wears its heart on its sleeve, would I pretend that, say, I haven’t known Clamfight for two decades, or pretend that I don’t consider them friends, that I wasn’t honored to be included in not only what’s their best album (and I say that as somebody who helped release one of them) but in what’s so clearly intended as an all-in culmination of their time together, made in the precious knowledge that all is fleeting. It’s been seven real years since their last record and the spirit of Clamfight, the urgency from the sprawl of 11-minute opener “The Oar” onward, comes in part from that. Love, loss, growth, life, death — Clamfight are celebrating as much as they’re mourning here, but the point is they’re doing it all together and realizing how lucky they are to have the chance to do that as part of their lives for so long. They’re right, and it’s a beautiful, if very adult, realization to witness.
It comes with a corresponding sincerity of form. Don’t tell this to “Drinking Tooth” on here, but Clamfight are not a stoner band and they never were, however large their tones may grow or how weighted their grooves can get or how informed they may be by things like fishing and obscure historical lore. Okay, maybe a little. But they’ve never been about chasing fuzz, or about playing to ideas of genre, and part of the honesty throughout Clamfight is in just how much they push against that. It’s ’90s thrash and hardcore gang shouts. It’s the acoustics and string sounds on “FRH.” The unrepentantly epic ground-scorch before “Redtail” is even halfway over (also after), setting up a punch-drunk roll as the band ride their own groove into the sunset, aware that 
any time could be the last time. It’s not social media content. It’s not trying to get on the cool playlist. It’s its own thing because they made it true to who they are as people and who they’ve grown to be as they’ve come into adulthood together. “Clamfight” itself is very much about that, but it’s all over the rest of the songs as well, and if you’d tell me you can’t understand how outwardly aggressive or loud or harsh music can be used to express love or gratitude, the only reply I really have for you is I’m sorry.
The line is right there in the galloping part of “Clamfight” — “Same four dudes/All this time” — and the song itself asks how long it can last. I don’t have an answer for that, but the band does. The answer is in cherishing what you have, whether that’s a band, a family, your life, a dumpy blog or some other outlet, for the time you have it. That’s what makes Clamfight a mature Clamfight album, and I don’t think I have to say that these aren’t the kinds of self-manifestations one would generally get from dudes in their 20s — not to disparage the songs Clamfight were writing at the time; I still love 2010’s Volume I (review here) and remember nostalgically seeing them on stage before then as well — but accepting being grown up and knowing a little more about who you are is a part of moving into middle age. There’s no attempt to hide that in these songs. No attempt to hide the fun. It’s as open a record as Clamfight could ever have hoped to make, and I love it for that. You can hear each one of them putting everything they have into it. Not every band gets to make an album like that, let alone to realize they’re doing it at the time and value it accordingly.
So they’re lucky to have each other and they know it. In uncertain times and facing an unknowable future ahead where little seems bright, that warmth is a saving grace. If the lesson of the pandemic was to teach the value of being together by keeping us apart, Clamfight embrace this as sweeping personal growth and depth of craft. These songs, this album taken as a whole, is a ready example of why you would be in a band for 20 years without care for ‘making it big’ or financial profit. It’s because you love it and you love the people you do it with. Such a simple answer and in no small part because men are raised to be emotional cripples it’s such a rare thing to see outside of violent and/or misogynist contexts. That is to say, it’s socially acceptable for men to bond so long as they’re hating women or killing somebody. But sounds so heavy with love so clearly at their foundation are rare and special and that’s exactly what Clamfight’s Clamfight is. The declaration it makes is no less than the band bearing their heart in portraying the family they’ve become over the last two decades. It’s brash and gorgeous and special and I’m very, very happy for my friends.
Also, Andy got married last week and Sean’s family recently welcomed a new member, so congrats all around.
As always, I hope you enjoy.
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Why not bold the proper names above? I don’t know. It didn’t feel right. Too review-y, maybe. I’m still just finishing my coffee at 9AM, so bear with me.
My alarm was set for 6:30 but the kid was pounding on the wall before that. We had a late night. The Patient Mrs. was out and The Pecan and I were on our own for the evening, which was fine. Bedtime started after nine and went until a bit before 10PM, which is already long, and she was out her bedroom door before I was downstairs long enough to take a sip of water. Back up like four more times before I made it to bed, then she came down two more times, finally decided she needed to poop, and did that I guess around an hour after she first came down, making it about 11PM. I took her back upstairs and fell asleep in her bed, where thankfully she also fell asleep at long last, and made it back downstairs sometime shortly after midnight. The Patient Mrs. was home by then, so I got to say goodnight in my barely-conscious ‘you wanna watch a Star Trek?’ state. TOS it is.
The kid had had a rough day at school, missing behavior targets and such, and The Patient Mrs. didn’t want to risk derailing recent forward progress — because this week has been better until yesterday, and three incident-free days, one of them a field trip, isn’t nothing to us at this point — so we’re keeping her home today. I’ll take her to the arcade or something since the weather sucks. I asked for and received the time to write this while they watch videos in the living room, and I am grateful for it.
Getting home from Oslo on Sunday was fine. It was a typical landing in Newark, which means the plane was tossed from side to side like a Micro Machines in a vortex and the line at customs took 40 minutes. My bad was out when I got out, so I didn’t wait there. In Europe, you wait for the bag. In the US, you wait to find out if you’re going to be let in the country.
I could go on about that or the Lord Buffalo thing this week with the drummer being detained and then it comes out he’s got warrants or somesuch. Like that makes it better. People being perfectly happy to miss the point is precisely why I said I was worried the US will learn nothing from the dark moment in history it’s inhabiting. We dismantled education. On purpose. First you need a cultural recommitment, and that also means money. Then you need to raise a generation of teachers. Then you need to raise a generation of educated kids. If you say it’s been since Nixon the right wing has been trying to privatize schooling, then the damage that’s been done to-date will need at least that long to undo, again, if the commitment to undo it was made, which given the track the country is on now there’s about zero chance of happening. I wonder if public schooling will exist by the time my daughter is my age. They want to privatize garbage collection in my town. There’s 50,000 people here. How fucking stupid do you need to be?
As noted, I could go on.
Next week I’ve got premieres for Electric Citizen, The Lotus Matter, and Entheomorphosis, and I’m going to review the new Turtle Skull, which will feel like exorcising a demon as I finally get all the laudatory blah blah blah out of my brain that I’ve been writing there for the last however-many weeks. Like a top-three of the year for me, that one.
I wish you a great and safe weekend. Drink water. Watch your head. Tell someone you love them. Listen to good music. I’m back Monday.
FRM.
