artist The Cliks

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Toronto, ON, CANADA

Warner Music

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genres
Alt Rock, Alt Pop

plays
1,176

playlisted
77

liked
17

VIDEO
Oh Yeah

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And now for something completely different. The Cliks’ new album Snakehouse (Kindling Music/Warner Music, April 24) reveals a band of such primal power and unguarded emotionality that it will take your breath away. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, I’ve fallen down/But I can get up,” sings Lucas Silveira in a voice at once scarred and defiant, over a pummeling rhythm section and a guitar riff of barely controlled fury. This unambiguous declaration kicks off “Oh Yeah,” one of 10 fiercely expressive tracks on Snakehouse, and it could serve as the credo of the Toronto trio, as well as summing up the personal narrative of Silveira, a writer/singer/guitarist of uncommon talent and audacity.

This song, the album’s emotional and thematic centerpiece, “expresses everything about who I am, where I’ve come from and how this album came to be,” says Silveira, who’s as intense in conversation as in performance. “I went to a place I thought I’d never get out of, and I think a lot of people go there—losing trust in somebody you love, losing faith in yourself, falling down, picking up the pieces and saying, ‘Y’know, I’m gonna be OK.’ It’s experiences like that that make you who you are and give you your strength.”

Another stunner, opening track “Complicated,” leaps out of the speakers like a Pitbull with fangs bared, building to a series of explosive climaxes before hitting a bridge that takes the song to another level altogether. Just as captivating is the band’s improbable transformation of Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” into a seething rock anthem, driven by a hopped-up reggae groove that shows you what a super-tight unit this is, and how skillful Silveira, bassist Jordan B. Wright and drummer Morgan Doctor are individually. Listening to these indelible tracks, one can understand why The Cliks have frequently been compared to the original Pretenders, as the multitalented Silveira writes and sings with the unbridled intensity of Chrissie Hynde while also playing electric guitar with the thrilling dynamism of the late, great James Honeyman-Scott.

From the first time they plugged in and cranked it up two years ago, Silveira, Doctor and Wright clicked, fittingly enough, instinctually generating something altogether special: elevated chops enabling them to focus their collective ferocity, an impassioned genuineness resulting from Wright and Doctor’s deep connection with Silveira’s openly emotional new songs and an intuitive knack for concocting sledgehammer hooks to drive the songs home and lodge them permanently in the listener’s head. Reviewer Sarah Liss of Toronto’s Now magazine hit the nail on the head recently when she raved, “All three of the players—killer rhythm section Doctor and Wright, and jagged-edged powerhouse guitarist/frontperson Silveira—are as adept at delivering turbocharged, sweetly macho live performances as they are technically gifted.”

If the best art is forged from pain, then Silveira had plenty to work with when writing the songs that went on to comprise Snakehouse. Early in 2005, the personal crises hit one after another, like gut punches. “They say when it rains, it pours, and that essentially happened to me before the creation of this album,” Silveira says ruefully. “I went through a complete lineup change after having made a name for the band in Toronto. While this was happening, a relationship that I’d been in for nearly seven years fell apart, my father suffered a stroke and I had a nervous breakdown—all this crazy shit at once. Also in the midst of all this, I started coming to terms with the fact that I was a transgendered male, and I hit the core of who I really am.” The songs of Snakehouse are steeped in the anguish and exhilaration of those times, shockingly personal and yet universally relatable.

Even as Silveira was going through all of these gut-wrenching changes, a new band began to coalesce around him, as if by magic. One night at a local watering hole, a friend came up to Wright, a fixture on the Toronto reggae, ska and punk scenes. “She said, ‘You’re gonna play in The Cliks,’ and she introduced me to Lucas,” Jordan recalls. “I took his number, and he invited me to the last show by the old band. I was blown away, so I told Lucas, ‘Sure, I’ll play with you.’ We were on the same page from the start.”

Also present at that fateful show was Doctor, a Southern California native who had become a highly sought-after drummer and tabla player after relocating to Toronto. “I saw the value of the songwriting,” Morgan says of the experience. “I’ve played with a lot of people, and it’s just not common to find a really good songwriter. What I was missing in their performance was that energy, that visceral thing I knew was in there. A little while later, Lucas called me and asked if I could fill in for a gig. I was gonna be on tour in Europe, so I couldn’t, but I told him, ‘I’m happy to play with you in the future.’” And just like that, Silveira had his band.

Surrounded by two equally virtuosic and committed players and armed with a brace of bold new songs, Silveira found himself inspired anew, and The Cliks’ new lineup quickly erased memories of the earlier band. “The difference is I have two really independent musicians working behind me who are total pros at what they do, and I no longer need to direct anybody,” says Silveira. “Because of that, I can focus on what I do and trust the other players. When you compare the two lineups, it’s like the difference between a cat and a tiger—they’re the same species, but one’s much more dangerous.”

One year later, when the band was ready to record, Lucas, a self-confessed control freak, struggled with the notion of working with an outside producer for the first time before deciding to take the plunge. “I’d already put my faith in Jordan and Morgan, and I thought, if I can do that with my players, let’s bring this guy in here.”

In the studio with Berg, everything locked together. “The songs were new, the band was new and we were just evolving in general,” says Morgan. “When Jordan and I joined, we took the songs to another place, and when Moe came in, they got even more developed and refined.” Adds Lucas, “Moe did what a great producer does—he took every song and made it the best it could be.”

On Snakehouse, The Cliks have created something mysterious yet transparent, specific yet universal, timeless yet intoxicatingly new. This is music that seems to emanate from a parallel universe, one where fundamental distinctions are blurred, living passionately is the highest level of existence and rock & roll is the ultimate form of expression.

A final suggestion: PLAY LOUD, and prepare to have your preconceptions obliterated.