The Clientele: Songs for the Everautumn
We saw them play at the Notting Hill Arts Club in either 1999 or 2000, when their lo-fi aesthetic of the tape hiss almost being a 4th member fit the basement vibes of the venue to a tee. Their sonic palette evolved over the decades since, arguably thanks to the polychromatic swirls of orchestration and arrangement (The King of Luxembourg can take some credit for this – incidentally, Simon Fisher Turner was at that London show we saw– I thought he was a street bum, and my wife swiftly disabused me of that notion... oops). Yet they still maintain that dreamy presence of a perpetually autumnal London.
The next and most recent time I saw them was at Mississippi Studios, Portland, where they were absolutely hypnotic as a three piece. Guitar, bass, drums, and vocals that didn't compete for space while filling it completely. For all the gentle jangle of Alasdair MacLean's guitar work, the pseudo-Sgt Pepper breakout solo in 'E.M.P.T.Y.,' emphasizes the band's psychedelic anchors. James Hornsey fits my preconceptions of the bassist being the "odd one" of any band, being the group's avant-garde and experimental music aficionado. His bass playing is less about grooves and patterns and more about a tonal floor that holds as much as it morphs, basslines that loop yet flow with the song. Along with Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek, The Clientele are the two contemporary "rock" bands that hold any interest for me at the time.
The Warmth Within the Melancholy
There's something about The Clientele that defies easy categorization. While their music can be generally described as pensive, there's a joy to that introversion that has breakout moments. It's the musical equivalent of a quiet person who suddenly lights up the room with an unexpected insight. Their joy is contemplative, found in those moments when the introspection suddenly blooms outward—like that guitar solo in 'E.M.P.T.Y.' that catches you off guard with its psychedelic flourishes.
This particular warmth sets them apart in an era where so much contemporary music feels either aggressively performative or coldly cerebral. The Clientele understand that music can be sophisticated and emotionally generous at the same time, not trying to impress you with their cleverness but inviting you into their particular version of joy.
Compare this to Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek, who represent the opposite pole of that same warmth—joyful AF, as one might say. Their Anatolian psych-folk has an infectious celebratory quality, like music made for dancing around fires under open skies rather than listening alone on rainy afternoons. Both bands radiate warmth, but they do it so differently: The Clientele's warmth is like finding a perfect book in a used bookstore—intimate and personal. Grup Şimşek's is more like stumbling into an amazing block party where everyone welcomes you immediately.
The Un-McCartney
Listening to 'Music for the Age of Miracles,' James Hornsey emerges as something of an un-McCartney—offsetting deft complexity and adroitness with an unassuming air, contrasting with Macca's "up front" presence. Not a diss on Paul, but an observation about two fundamentally different approaches to the bass guitar's role in a band's ecosystem.
Where McCartney's bass work is often melodically assertive, leaning towarss lead-instrument territory, Hornsey operates from a place of deliberate restraint. His complexity is there, but it's humble—sophisticated without needing to announce itself. McCartney's bass presence is theatrical in the best sense; he's clearly enjoying being heard, pushing melodies forward, sometimes even competing with his own vocal lines. Hornsey's approach is more like painting the room rather than decorating it—essential to the atmosphere but never demanding your attention directly.
In a band where the overall aesthetic is about subtlety and suggestion rather than statement, having a bassist who embodies that philosophy in his playing style makes perfect sense. His restraint becomes its own kind of sophistication—the musical equivalent of someone who's genuinely confident enough not to need to prove it. His basslines loop yet flow with the song, creating morphing sonic landscapes rather than traditional rhythmic foundations.
Perpetual Autumn
From those early basement shows where tape hiss was practically a band member to the polished orchestrations of their later work, The Clientele have managed something rare: evolution without abandonment of core identity. They still exist in that perpetually autumnal London of the imagination, where every street corner holds the promise of melancholy beauty and every song feels like it was written for the space between seasons.
Their journey from lo-fi intimacy to orchestral expansiveness mirrors their emotional range—from whispered confidences to those surprising moments of psychedelic release. In our current musical moment where so much feels over-projected and under-felt, The Clientele offer something increasingly precious: music that creates its own temporal space rather than just occupying the present moment.
They remain, along with Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek, among the few contemporary "rock" bands that understand the alchemy of turning introspection into invitation, melancholy into warmth, and restraint into its own form of power. In a world that often mistakes volume for passion, The Clientele whisper their way into permanence.