"My gig is to write, record and perform songs," he says. "I never set out to make three solo records and, granted, sales are getting [fewer] with each one. So it's possible that this could be my last solo record." If so, Clarke is going out in style. Alternating from chugging metal to power pop, while deftly displaying both a Stones influence and a punk streak, his new album, Rubber, explores the darker side of the Hollywood dream-based personal experience. "Kilroy Was Here" deals with his buddy's sudden suicide; "Technicolor Stars" is about a quixotic young girl who catches a fatal bullet while dancing at a bar; and "Saturday Disaster" captures the decadence of drinking and drugging in the Eighties.

Injecting a dark, impish humor in his lyrics (asking, for example, "I can have your car?" of his dead friend in "Kilroy Was Here"), Clarke displays his penchant for good times. But he took things seriously enough to sing, produce, engineer, play guitar and some bass, and write all the songs (save covers of the New York Dolls' "Trash" and Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz") on Rubber. Over the course of three weeks, he recruited the talents of former Kiss drummer Eric Singer, Nickelbag contributor Brian Tichy, former White Lion bassist James LoMenzo, one-time Ozzy Osbourne bassist Phil Soussan, guitarist Ryan Roxie (Pawnshop Guitars, The Hangover) and bassist Will Effertz (Pawnshop Guitars) to complete the album. And, though he's best known for his fretwork, his punkish pop vocals are what inject the album with its insouciant style.

Married now with a three-year-old daughter (for whom he penned the album's outro, "Frankie's Planet"), it's a minor chore suppressing memories of wilder times. "Do I miss it?" he asks himself. "Well, you miss it like you miss an old car." Still, despite family commitments, he plans a stripped-down tour for Rubber. "The times of touring for eight months in a bus are over," he says. "My competition at the clubs are platinum acts and I'm just the guitar player from some band. Everything I got into music for doesn't exist anymore for me."

That harsh dose of reality aside, Clarke knows the audience is still listening. "You make records so that you can play live because no matter how little you are," he says, "you still gotta hear this ..." And he claps his hands loudly and grins.