“Free,” the addictive first song on Clem Snide’s most recent record, 2024’s Oh Smokey, opens with frontman Eef Barzelay’s plaintive, ache-laden voice delivering the following visage: “Calling all the sunbeams/Meet up in the breezeway/Gather in the naked light of god’s love.” It’s yet another example of the New Jersey native’s ongoing need to explore his fertile imagination and unique spiritual inclinations, an immediate mood setter anchored by sturdy drum and bass and intertwining electric and acoustic guitars.
Oh Smokey closes just as memorably with the folky, slow-burning “Unlocked,” which finds Barzelay repeatedly insisting that “the prison door was unlocked all along,” a pointed metaphor lodged amid breezy acoustic guitar and sweetly harmonizing backing vocals.
As usual, Barzelay — the only constant in Clem Snide’s lineup over the outfit’s three-decade existence — leavens his existential dilemmas with a wry sense of humor; a distinctive, high-whine vocal delivery; and textured, easy-going musical arrangements that pull equally from folk, rock and country traditions. Produced by musical polymath Josh Kaufman (best known recently for his work as a guitarist in the band Bonny Light Horseman and as a collaborator with Taylor Swift), Oh Smokey continues Barzelay’s ceaseless search for meaning through music — nuanced ruminations that yearn for connection in a frequently unforgiving world.
CityBeat recently spoke by phone with Barzelay, whose candor and dark humor came as no surprise.
CityBeat: There’s a meditative, almost cosmic, aspect that runs through the songs on this album. Was it a conscious decision to make the vibe cohesive in that way or was it more of an organic result?
Eef Barzelay: I want the records to feel meditative and conversational. The picture I have in my mind that you’re sitting in the back of some bus and you strike up a conversation with a stranger and it ends up being one of the deepest, most meaningful conversations you’ve ever had. And then you both doze off and the bus drives off a bridge or something. That’s sort of the story in my mind of this record. It’s the space between waking and sleeping, the space between being alive and dead.
If I’m making a record, I do try to think of it as a whole thing and not just a collection of the latest songs that I have. Without getting conceptual about it, you want everything to feel like they’re in the same space or same vibe. But I don’t think about what I do so much. It’s more intuitive. It’s all kind of what feels good. I never really know what I’m doing. I’m always on the edge of figuring it out.
CB: Do you think music can be seen as a form of religion?
EB: Yeah, I think so. I was raised by godless Jews, so it’s not necessarily rooted in any particular religion. My music advocates for spirit over body. I think most music caters to the body, whereas this caters more to the spirit. What am I even singing about? Everything fell apart for me when I was 40. Everything bottomed out: the band broke up, the label went out of business, I lost my house. I had a kind of spiritual crisis. I was grieving. I had a kind of dark night of the soul. I had a wife and two small kids. I was like, “What the fuck am I doing?” To write my way out of that was how I did it. I would never join a church. I can’t really be religious. It just feels weird to me, so I have to be religious this way, my own unique way. A song is like a prayer — a pure, still moment of honesty.
CB: To me the signature aspect of what you do is the sound of your singing voice, which is unconventional in a satisfying way. You convey emotion in a way that comes off as authentic instead of forced or overly dramatic. I can tell it’s you as soon as I hear it. How did you develop your approach to singing?
EB: Yeah, I never took like singing lessons or anything. I don’t know how to sing. I just open my mouth and that’s how it comes out. I don’t like my own voice. When I hear it back, it sounds kind of off to me. The relationship you have with your own voice is interesting, especially if you make records. I’ve definitely gotten better at singing. When I listen to that first Clem Snide record (1998’s You Were a Diamond), it’s really tough for me to listen to because the singing is just so limp. I understand it better. I’ve realized it’s all about breathing slowly and deeply and kind of getting the energy from your stomach. But, yeah, I too am drawn to a more unusual voice like a Daniel Johnston or Lou Reed or even Bob Dylan. It’s clearly just their voice.
CB: How did you hook up with Josh Kaufman to produce the album? What impact did he have on the recording?
EB: A manager I was working with at the time introduced me to him at some point years ago and that whole scene up there in Kingston, New York. I like him. He’s cool. He’s got a nice vibe. He’s a big Clem Snide fan from way back, back when we were in Brooklyn in the late ’90s. I had heard some of the stuff he had worked on. It sounded really nice, so I just kind of put myself in his hands. I don’t particularly like producing myself. I think it helps a lot to have someone else do that. He’s great. He just did it all. He can play numerous different instruments very tastefully. He can engineer. He produces. He’s got a great spirit. You need someone who’s enthusiastic in the studio, which he was.
CB: You’ve been doing this for more than 30 years now. How has your process changed or evolved over the years?
EB: Writing songs is kind of a compulsion for me. I just sort of do it. It’s a bit like fishing in a way. You’re going out on the boat and you don’t always catch something but it’s nice to be out on the boat casting your line. I like going out on the boat. But there have been times where I really wanted something to come from it or pushed it and it doesn’t come. I’ve written all kinds of songs. I’ve written songs for a yogurt commercial, I’ve written songs for other people, I’ve written goofy shit, I’ve written really dark shit. I just try to be the vehicle for something. I don’t think of it as much about expressing myself. I don’t really know who I am in that sense. It’s just a weird, unconscious compulsion, and I just hope to get paid for it so that I don’t have to have a regular job because I can’t do that. I’m not qualified for any other kind of work.
Clem Snide plays the Southgate House Revival on March 9 at 7:30 p.m. More info: southgatehouse.com.
This story is featured in CityBeat’s Feb. 19 print edition.
This article appears in Feb 19 – Mar 4, 2025.