Album Review: Crazy Clown Time – David Lynch

Unorthodox film auteur, meditation guru, artist and now bonafide musician, the empire of oddity that is David Lynch‘s career continues to grow without any sign of stopping. I didnt expect much when I first entered Crazy Clown Time and in doing so my expectations were matched. Let’s just get this out the way, Crazy Clown Time is a bad album but it’s actually not the horrendous car crash it could have been. The abstract, dark atmospheres fuelled by  broody, darkly coated guitars provide something from which Lynch could potentially build something much better upon.

If you’ve ever seen the wonderment that is Twin Peaks or any of Lynchs movie work, then you will definetly recognise certain tonal aspects of CCT. There is a woozy, mysterious under layer to certain songs which sound as if Lynch has extracted the atmosphere from his visual work and transplanted it into his music. When this is evident the record shows real promise, the moody shuffling nature of “The Night Bell” With Lightning is a perfect example of this. As is the Karen O collaboration “Pinky’s Dream”, however moments like these are heavily diluted by the frankly faulty electronic experimentations on here. However these are far from the weakest links here. David Lynch as much as I love and respect both your movie work and your way of thinking, you have one of the worst singing voices I may have ever heard. When not disguising his vocals behind a scuffed, whispered distortion or a vocoder he sounds stoned to high heaven, searching in a discombobulated state his “singing” does the album no favours at all.

On top of this far too many tracks feel as if they head nowhere slowly, wrapping themselves into loops of boredom and nonsense, a lot of Crazy Clown Time folds in upon itself far too frequently. Not quite the disaster it could have been, yet not quite the interesting atmospheric project it had the potential to be. If he keeps away from the microphone and sticks to analogue ideas, there may just be a second wind for Lynch to ride, somewhere in the future.

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The Author

Mal Foster

Mal Foster

Writer by day, ski mask wearing vigilante by night. I like bears, sarcasm and magic, not necessarily in that order. Rather fond of summer fruits mixed into some kind of refreshing juice, movies, music and videogames. Also I may not be entirely human. Visit my site -