(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)

Claw Hammer were a Los Angeles band that played complex, satirical punk rock. Their records blended the music and spirit of Captain Beefheart with the music and spirit of the Ramones.

Jon Wahl (originally from Virginia) left his position in the Pontiac Brothers and formed Claw Hammer in Los Angeles with Christopher Bagarozzi (guitar), Robert Walther (bass), and Bob Lee (drums).

The EP Poor Robert (Grown Up Wrong, 1989), featuring Car Down Again and the title track (Bagarozzi delivers a quintessential Southern boogie ā la Lynyrd Skynyrd while Wahl howls and wails without restraint), along with the first three singles (the hyperkinetic Suck Fish Belly Up, Candle Opera, Brother Brick Says/ Don't Walk Away) immediately showcased an extremely original sound: fast and visceral like heavy metal, yet ironic and playful like Devo, as well as versatile and irregular like no one else.

This is the path followed by Claw Hammer (Sympathy For The Record Industry, 1990). Drawing on Devo and Captain Beefheart, MC5 and the Stooges, Patti Smith and Television, the quartet turned this continuous sonic assault into a manifesto of how to combine violent sound with caustic humor while maintaining a high level of creativity—not unlike what Death Of Samantha were doing. Tracks like Shell Shocked embrace music-hall, but use the driving sounds of hard rock (and the boogie of Drop demonstrates the level of power Bagarozzi and company can achieve).

The unstoppable Papa's Got Us All Tied In Knots and Warm Spring Night could easily have belonged in Beefheart’s repertoire: frenzied grunts, blues-rock cadences, thorny riffs, insane instrumental jams. Claw Hammer’s goal seems to be to have fun playing their idols in an imaginary world where rock is nothing but a gigantic joke.

The band, however, seemed not to have much faith in themselves, so much so that Bagarozzi also played in Down By Law and Wahl in the Red Aunts. After countless covers and even a full remake of Devo’s first album, Claw Hammer returned with Ramwhale (Sympathy, 1992). The driving boogie of Succotash and the dizzying hard rock of 3:15 (with riffs reminiscent of Gibbons and breaks ā la Page) confirmed the quartet’s unchanged eclecticism and verve. Wahl now favors Richard Hell’s hysterical register, but with the guttural highs of Axl Rose; Bagarozzi scatters blues-sting counterpoints; the rhythm section relentlessly pushes forward; and the band also stands out for its overall impressive command of style.

The following year came Pablum (Epitaph, 1993), featuring the most aggressive sound of their career: the clownish poses abandoned and the Beefheart obsession scaled back, leaving only first-rate hard rock. Vigil Smile opens the album stormily, with rhythmic fractures, syncopation, sudden accelerations, and collective chases in rapid succession, while Wahl raves in his frenzied manner. Equally wild is the epileptic rock and roll of Montezuma's Hands, one of their masterpieces.
When, on Nut Powder, Lee presses the accelerator and drags everyone onto the floor for a frenzied slamdance, the guitars blaring their amphetamine blues, and Wahl’s psychotic register invests every note with demonic force, the memory of their mentors (Devo) is swept away. Beefheart’s influence, however, remains and grows ever more prominent, so much so that in places it feels like hearing the old werewolf accompanied by Guns N’ Roses. The martial Malthusian Blues and the melodic William Tell balance all that energy with a wider expressive range.

Shortly thereafter came the 45 rpm Day Of The Triffids (Sympathy), an epic progressive rock gallop, confirming the band’s state of grace.

Wahl’s frenzied, strident vocals, Lee’s forceful and all-encompassing rhythm, and Bagarozzi’s breathtaking guitar solos create a galvanizing sound. Wahl, in particular, draws on all the resources of his repertoire, the last heir to the great tradition of vaudeville showman clowns.

Thank The Holder Uppers (Atlantic, 1995) continues along the blues-rock path of Pablum, but with more pronounced Rolling Stones inflections (the sloppy, disordered guitars, the lascivious howls, and a few blasts of blues harmonica that make Super Things vibrate, or the faded slow burn of Bums On The Flow) and creativity increasingly restrained. The band redeems itself on the rowdier numbers, like Dan's In Town and Five Fifths Dead (with a long, almost free-jazz jamming outro), and perhaps on the instrumental track Each Hit. Increasingly adult and less clownish, Claw Hammer have lost much of their original appeal. The most atmospheric track, Sweaty Palms, recalls the memory of the Doors in the era of Guns N’ Roses.

After the erudite EP 'Scuse The Excursion (Sympathy, 1996), on which the Claw Hammer play Miles Davis and Duke Ellington, Hold Your Tongue (Interscope, 1997) comes as a genuine Claw Hammer joke. Only they can place the harmonic acrobatics of Water next to the catchy The Day It Rained Pigeon Shit and Queen's Lead Helmet. This is metropolitan blues at the turn of the century, and it doesn't sound pretty (Black Eyed Blues, Hindsight).