Interview taken from HermAphrodite #10.

The spiritual brethren of Ten Benson, Clinic are here to make yours ears pound and your hips wiggle. Beloved of John Peel and boss-man Grant of the Cornerhouse alike, after two years of angling for them the astonishingly amiable Clinic have finally made it to Middlesbrough. In a few hours time, they will dazzle their bouncing-cheerful crowd with rambunctious tracks such as ‘Monkey on My Back’ and ‘Cement Mixer’, on the first proper date of their first headline tour, and will leave the audience unstoppably beaming after their ever first British encore. But first, they have to natter away to me in a corner of the lovely ‘Purple Onion’ as I steal their chips. Welcome to their world…

And before we go any further, there are a couple of things to just clear up. Yes, they might hail from Liverpool but no they don’t sound like Cast. Yes, the recurring Evil Bill is like Clinic’s own Major Tom, and keeps popping up in various songs because, as Ade put it ‘it’s nice to have a recurring character’. And no, this does not make them a soap opera band. ( There’s far too much wicked guitar. )

As the rest of the band settle into their dinner, Ade and myself huddle down into a corner, away from Brian’s tortured exclamations over the seemingly unbelievable notion that there are people in the world who haven’t heard of ‘The Young Ones.’ Conversation turns to the band’s instruments; Clinic do not rely on the old staples of guitar ‘n’ drums. Oooh no. Ade has a mini keyboard he dextrously wields while onstage, operated not by electricity but by his own lung-power. ‘Ridiculous things can be good, if you use them in the right way.’ And yes, he has considered making things himself. ‘It’s good, that, if no-one else knows what it is.’ And that goes for the music as well. Clinic are not ones for just strumming their guitars and looking at their feet. ‘And even if we were, I don’t really think it’s what the audience want.’ He’s probably right on that. ‘I think if you make some sort of effort, that makes it really interesting for the audience.’ And even if that sentiment is not fulfilled by the band’s lack of extravagant costuming or use of trapezes, the live entity that is Clinic are still wholly likely to be described as ‘wildly effervescent’. They’re unlikely to spark a Manics-esque look-alikes crowd though; Ade says they have had no people turning up at gigs looking like them. ‘Not as yet, no. Thankfully.’ And in accordance with this, there don’t seem to be any real defining qualities of the average fan. Although… ‘We do seem to get quite a high proportion of nutters’, he grins, ‘and middle-aged blokes.’ There are no specific Clinic people, there’s isn’t a highly specialised ‘sound’; anyone can be infected by it.

And so what of the band’s plans for the future? Have they thought beyond the release of their new record? Ade grins happily. ‘We want to have different smells put out to the audience when we play.’ This intrigues me. I like the idea of Scratch ‘n’ Sniff live music. So would they choose each one according to the song’s theme? ‘No, we just have the one smell in mind. For all the songs. It’s this disinfectant, it’s really nice.’ My eyebrows are raised at this. ( Just because they’re called Clinic, they don’t have to smell like one. ) I suggest the smell of baking bread instead, which would prove a far more inticing olfactory lure. ‘Ah yeah, that’s what Sainsbury’s do, isn’t it?’ And it works for them. You have been warned, people…

Clinic’s new album ‘Internal Wrangler’ is out now on Domino Records.

My Dictaphone was, on this day, playing ‘silly beggars’.

Which is why, although I talked to the band for quite a while,

the interview is so short. Apologies.

Last revised: 26/07/01