There are two sides to Clams Casino. The first is the part where singer Brian Dunne is determined in his convictions, railing against the power brokers and show-offs who like to keep the little guy down. Then there’s the part where he begins to doubt everything he just said. It’s the central tension of Dunne’s fifth album, this sense that we should enjoy life and throw caution to the wind, but also, do we really deserve that? And, more broadly, what do we even want?
Dunne is one-fourth of the playful, folksy rock band Fantastic Cat, and, on his own, he makes exuberant pop-rock in the vein of Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, and Tom Petty. His songs are studied but very fun, so stuffed with hooks that it’s as if each were vying to become your new favorite. His previous album, a 2023 Kill Rock Stars release called Loser on the Ropes, had a few stellar moments, but it wasn’t as consistently ambitious as Clams Casino. On this record, Dunne’s obvious zeal gives me the same feeling I get from Joel’s The Stranger, where every song sounds like his life depends on it, because God knows what happens if something goes wrong.
Dunne, a tenor with a crystal-clear voice, has a great deal in common with Joel as a songwriter and singer. On Clams Casino’s opening title track, Dunne asks, “Is it so bad to want a good thing?” before admitting, “All I want is just a little bit more.” It’s as if there were another verse in “Movin’ Out” where Anthony says, “Actually, I should consider if a Roth IRA is a worthwhile option.” Later, “Some Room Left” may be the only song of the 21st century that sounds credibly inspired by “Summer, Highland Falls.” There’s more to Dunne’s music than Joel worship, but it speaks to his talent that he’d swim in a pool where few others bother to play.
Like Joel, Dunne can be an acerbic songwriter, which adds an edge to Clams Casino’s soaring guitars and clean production. “Rockland County” is a half-sarcastic, half-earnest ode to ditching the city for the suburbs, with lines that wouldn’t feel out of place on a Father John Misty or 1975 song: “Farmers market! Super Target!/That used to be a Bed Bath & Beyond.” You can hear this as an anti-capitalist screed or as a simple embrace of creature comforts and easy livin’. A lot of Dunne’s album presents this sort of Rorschach test: Is he scared of getting old, or happy he’s no longer a young ruffian? Does he know who he is, or has he been faking it all along? The truth seems to be that he just doesn’t know, or, as he sings on the closing “Living It Backwards,” “I’m still not sure what I’m after/I don’t suppose I’ll ever be.”