We don’t follow a lot of the local blues singers, as we’ve never required extra incentive to drink whiskey. But Clarks Falls appeals to us. Not just his plural first name (he was named after two feuding uncles both named Clark, he tells us) but how he seems to be in chronic pain when he sings. His agony adds to the allure of songs like “Oh, the Hurt” and “My Baby Stepped on My Insides Again.”
We asked Mr. Falls if the anguished expressions are real. He reeled off a lot of numbers and dashes which turned out to mean something like “classified” or “trade secret.” Clarks’s a war veteran, which may answer our question right there. But he’s loose and funny in person, flashing gap-toothed grins and trying to swipe our pencil so he can do magic tricks with it.
Whether it’s acting or catharsis, performing is clearly a great outlet for Clarks Falls. If he was as jovial onstage as off, it would kill his whole act—but save his audience a few buckets of tears.

Mysterious Handprints and Secret Pitch, pretty big names for the Bullfinch… Two Spies on the deck and Dead Eagles on the main floor of Hamilton’s… An Evening With Knife in the Watermelon at D’ollaire’s…