When I saw Old Time Relijun at Tonic a few months ago, guitarist and vocalist Arrington de Dionyso wore no beard to obscure his baby face. Without his ragged mountain-man facade, de Dionyso's distinctive voice lacked its familiar context; instead of an unhinged woodsman chopping demons, a bespeckled indie-rock geek spat possessed tongues, hillbilly ire, and the gurgling howl of a vampiric Jon Spencer. To confuse things further, this end-times preacher was swaddled in a red sweatsuit emblazoned with "Oriental is the world famous country" and accompanied by a picture of Italy. I really love these disjunctions: Ted Bundy didn't resemble a killer, pre-makeover Clay Aiken was an unlikely pop star, I can't believe it's not butter. As I saw it that night, this figure somehow swallowed a maniacal banshee who flooded the club with its angry presence whenever this sorcerer opened his mouth.
Perhaps due in part to my confused expectations, Old Time Relijun was unstoppable that night-- an endless well of Beefheart goodness. "Cold Water", from Lost Light, was especially propulsive, constructed with an extended build-up and an eventual shout-along of the song's title by new double bassist Aaron Hartman and drummer Rives Elliot (the latter replacing The Microphones' Phil Elvrum) before de Dionyso ended the set with an extended jaw harp solo.
There are no jaw harp or solo excursions on Old Time Relijun's fifth album-- it's all about teamwork (well, that and storytelling). An intense 30 minutes, Lost Light features the band's catchiest, most filled-out songs to date-- a sure-footed treat after the unevenness of 2003's rarities collection, Varieties of Religious Experience, whose lack of narrative pull was its primary weakness; as if Old Time Relijun are responding Roxanne-style to my prodding, Lost Light is a goddamn concept album.
At first glance, Lost Light's song cycle seems to document an estrangement from innocence (or Eden). Complicating this otherwise easy read is an Olympic-sized pool of water imagery-- amniotic fluid, rivers, rain-- as well as an endless quest, oral sex as ablution, Blakean naturalism, the gnashing of teeth, and addictive poison (I'm thinking Bel Biv DeVoe). Upon closer inspection-- and with the help of "Dark of the Male, Light of the Female" from 2001's Witchcraft Rebellion for imagistic explanation-- it's more about old-fashioned love. That's an interpretation that's backed by de Dionyso himself, who told me via e-mail: "My songs use the language of alchemy and dreams to find new (and ancient) ways of talking about love-- the entire process of having, losing, finding, rejecting, coming to terms with, being in love. Lost Light tells the classic story of the Shaman's Soul Retrieval."
Amidst that dense tale, Old Time Relijun twist and shake the three-minute pop song. Banged together with Thinking Fellers Union Local #282's angular and unhinged guitarissimo, album opener "The Door I Came Through Has Been Closed (But I Keep Trying)" mutates as it swivels, swings, and saves. It also announces de Dionyso's Proclaimers-like intentions: "I walk the streets of the city/ I walk alone in the city/ I keep trying to/ Find you."
The previously mentioned, "Cold Water" is a swift eight minutes: De Dionyso tracks a vision quest, water, and himself through trees, roots, mud, rock, soil and sand. The instrumental "Music of the Spheres" chimes with the confusion of a flood-zone and "Cold Water, Deep Underwater" is a chill-out sans vocals with wrangler gee-tar and precisely constant water torture drumming. "The Rising Water, The Blinding Light"-- with lines such as, "Devil and the angels making eyes at each other/ They wanna be inside of each other"-- feels like Flannery O'Connor damnation as sexual come-on, a crazed monological call-and-response of dizzying spells invoking Nick Cave. The album even ends with a reference to rock's most-famous lovers, John and Yoko, via the "put down your sword" of the joyful "War Is Over".
Critics mention a musician's parent's occupation when it adds to or helps create a mythology. With that shop secret in mind, de Dionyso was raised in Arkansas and Spokane, WA as the son of Methodist ministers. And Lost Light is his most confident, explosive sermon. When a band this manic attempts concision while still working within its raging form, the ideal result is a super-tight documentation of howling at the moon. Lost Light has that swagger. As the poem inside the album suggests ("I'm the kind of king that likes the night/ Ashes and dust are my glittering crown/ I found my queen/ I go down/ For my underground queen"), this is a cracked, art-rock Odyssey, a collection of warped hillbilly booty jams for folks who've misplaced something and want like hell to find it.
