Gary Clark Jr - This Land

Gary Clark Jr - This Land

One of the lone rangers of guitar music left, Gary Clark Jr has always felt like he’s a man displaced from time. Either one of the last successful remnants of a vintage scene or leagues ahead as regards to his ambiguous style melds. The Austinian musician has had his skills compared to the likes of Jimi Hendrix, although his inclination to fuse blues rock, contemporary hip hop and soul together gives him a much broader sonic horizon. But it is his southern blues, be it a New Orleans acoustic twang or all too familiar Texan grit, that forms the backbone of nearly all his music. Indeed much of his discography is inspired by personal experience. After all, isn’t “write what you know” the saying? It is this intimate knowledge that informs eponymous opening track ‘This Land’, a seething take on racism in America, and all the agony, cheer and cravings that follow it.

The candid ferocity of This Land is designed to shock and awe. The normally taciturn Clark has never been prone to biting his tongue, but the directness of the lyrics imply a deeper animosity that he’s previously revealed. In a recent Rolling Stone interview, Clark spoke on the abuse he experienced growing up: racial slurs painted on his fence, animal filth posted through his letterbox, confederate flags draped across his property. However, it was a recent incident that inspired this fierce retort, when a neighbour approached Clark and his three-year-old son at his home, asking who owned the 50-acre property. "I do," Clark informed him. "There's no way you can live here,” came the response (hence the title). 

Now, for the uninitiated, it is important to note that Clark is a Texas native. One of the largest states in America, it once tried to secede and form its own republic. The state motto is “Don’t mess with Texas.” In short, they are a proud group of people, and Clark is one of them. They don't respond well to being TOLD things. This interaction had such a profound impact on Clark, he recalls going into the booth and “freestyling” most of the track. He took pilgrimages to the Lorraine Motel. He pondered on the Trump era, on Charlottesville. He channelled his indignation and hurt into This Land. And it’s one of his best yet.

To be clear on something - This Land is not anti-racist. Careful measures are taken to not to give agency to his inflictors, and deliberation is used in assuring only his voice, his experiences are heard. In doing so, he elevates his perspective to the same level to that of his offending neighbour, whose prejudices warped reality and silenced Clark in the process. The southern singer is determined that he won't be gagged again, and his growl is a far cry from the earnest blues and smooth tone usually found. The opening number is a genre-fluid war cry, fuelled by a deconstructed rap-rock stomp. Easily the fiercest Clark has ever sounded, the lyrics are a defiant challenge to those who would dare test him - “Fuck you, I’m Americas son, This is where I come from,” - his distorted bark accompanied by a steely, snarling riff. A homage to his heritage, the rock and roll roots of his southern upbringing, and the connections between reality, rap and black communities in America, The Land is a convincing portrayal of its performer, a mix of the old and new who refuses to be silenced.

With previous statements in mind, the album goes at great length to distance itself from the trappings of a manifesto. The composer himself admitted “I’m not a politician, I’m an artist. I have something to say.” While the goosebump-inducing chest thump of its curtain raiser has an imperative message to convey, much of the albums equally enjoyable moments are less critical. Clark refuses to be typecast as the ‘angry black man’ stereotype, filling This Land with mortal moments and human emotion. ‘I Walk Alone’ has an aching, electronic wail, ‘Feeling like a million’ is sustained by a lustful reggae strut and a rock/R'n'B chorus, and the jazz-infused bluesy malice of ‘Got To Get Up’ (with its frighteningly straight forward refrain of “Kill em all, kill em all”) is another winner. Featuring a score that combines country, pop, blues, rock, jazz, soul, rap, reggae and hip hop, Clark documents many relatable, idiosyncratic behaviours and period and gives each one a breath of life.

When he aims though, Clark hits hard. The Bobby Womack-esque ‘Feed The Babies’ (Think ‘Across 110th Street’ plus Stevie Ray Vaughan) is a soul-rock call for action, for community and common sense. Led by a blend of chewy funk, psychedelic licks, mo-town brass and groove-infused keys, Clark begs “Come on mothers and fathers, Teach the babies to talk… Come on mothers and fathers, Stand up for your cause, And teach the babies to love.” Immediately following is the lovelorn sonnet of ‘Pearl Cadillac.’ The heart jerker dedicated to his mother sees Clark at his warmest and most delicate. “I remember when I left home in that Pearl Cadillac, looking for some kind of way to pay you back,” he croons, all swaying hips and 80’s style hyperbolic guitar. Light on lyrics but high on emotion, it’s a ballad in every sense of the word.

While the land is not exactly all thriller, if you've got fillers on par with the flamenco swagger of 'Guitar Man' then you're in fairly good shape. Clark travels through nearly every emotion in This Land, transforming from loving to gritty, aggressive to gentle, carnal to morose, but never defensive. The hardest hitting moment of the album is the first track, which preaches defiance rather than rage. To act defensively would imply that the emotion behind the message is more important than the message itself, and so Clark opts to bite his thumb in opposition and plant himself firmly at home. After all, that's were many of the influences from the album come from. It seems only right then, poetic even, that the place in which he was denied equality would give him the weapons with which to defend himself. As Clark told RS “It was important to keep it (the message) real.” Message received. Don’t mess with Texas.