You could say that wildly eccentric (read: mentally fucked) Old Time Relijun frontman Aarington Dionyso is a little Black Francis, a little Darby Crash, some Birthday Party-era Nick Cave and part talentless Agent Orange-addled Vietnam vet derelict shoveled off the street and thrown, mid-acid flashback, into a recording studio. Like Francis on the Pixies' Surfer Rosa, Dionyso also enjoys shrieking in both Spanish and English, except that Francis' freakouts admittedly seem pretty tame and sane in comparison. And Dionyso, well, he screams unintelligible gibberish in Italian, too. Pretty gooda, eh?
Amazing, though, I can actually tolerate this new EP for awhile, unlike that crass pile of digitized monkey shit-- and of course, critical favorite-- Uterus and Fire. I can only guess that the band's only true appeal is the Old Time Relijun live experience in which a crowd of normal, problem-free college kids get off on seeing some poor brain-drained mental case suffer nervous breakdowns on stage, as he rants about certain locations of doors, buying cola in a casino, and that weird electrical smell in the house. Truthfully, though, hypocrite that I am, if Old Time Relijun came to my city, I can't say I wouldn't be right there among all the other wide-eyed entertainment-starved voyeurs and cheap thrill-seekers watching Dionyso go apeshit.
But then again, Old Time Relijun isn't much more than your average old-timey carnival freak show. In fact, I'm suddenly reminded of the great fartist "Le Petomaine" whose musical flatulence entertained Parisian high society back in the early 20th century. He was the toast of the town and a big draw, too. It's astounding, I know, but that froggie gentleman's anus had a keener sense of melody than anyone in this sorry band. Maybe it's time to try blowin' a little ass on CD, fellas?
Well, gee, maybe I'm being a little harsh. On a positive note, where did Dionyso's cute little guitar riffs suddenly come from? He must've sampled his K Records mentor Calvin Johnson's old band Beat Happening. A few of the guitar parts have, in fact, advanced from Uterus and Fire's untuned sonic slop to almost-catchy two- and three-note demento spy-theme hooks. Like on "Adaga," he'll take some old B-52's guitar line and truncate it to a few shaky notes, making for, at least, a halfway-listenable experience.
And, I guess all the suit-and-tied mohawks at Punk Planet will be crying "sellout" on the almost downright poppy "Circuit Breaker." I found my head bobbing to the child-like guitar figure, threatened, of course, by some mean-sounding vacuum-cleaner drone in the background. And the "composition" they named after a line from Walt Whitman, is a Benny- Goodman- meets- Ornette- Coleman free-form clarinet squawk-fest. Ah, no jazzo frio! Por favor!
Let's face it, it's cynical as hell to release and/or condone a proud- to- be- crappy band like this. They're praised to the heavens by the same attention-starved geeks who champion the annoying Shaggs and Half Japanese's Destroy All Monsters, and believe that all worthwhile music has to be totally incompetent, mindless, and secretly suffered through. I can appreciate that to an extent, but, come on, who really listens to this garbage more than once? You can bet Old Time Relijun hate their own music for leisure listening they'd probably opt for something even more sick and twisted, like Bjorn Again or Hanson. I mean, there'll always be the militant post-structuralist cashiers at the local indie record store-- y'know, guys who read Lee Ranaldo's poetry chapbooks and play stuff like Old Time Relijun to impress/annoy their snippy Foucault-misinterpreting colleagues.
Anyway, I'd venture to say that La Sirena De Pecera could be an actual "improvement" upon Uterus and Fire. Dionyso's maniacal shrieks are louder here, providing a greater distraction from his band of circus chimps responsible for the banana-brained bass lines and obnoxious drum solos pointlessly clattering away. And no matter how "cool" and "punk rock" it is to pretend to love this stuff, Old Time Relijun's brand of white noise is usually just rickety, rhythmically retarded, and pretty damn boring, if ye ask me.
To be fair, though, Dionyso may be a no-talent wreck of a half-man half-beast, but he does prove that genuinely depraved dudes can be really amusing sometimes. I'll admit, this guy makes Jon Spencer look like the staid, Ivy-educated, son of a famous psychologist he really is. I mean Spencer these days, is, at best, a skinny Elvis impersonator riding a prolonged sugar rush. Dionyso is a rabid, frothing, genuine hombre de loco in comparison. Still, does that mean La Sirena De Pecera will be a mainstay in my sellout non-punk 5-disc cd changer? Will I send the freak five bucks for a book of third grade drawings he's peddling on the inside cover? You figure it out. Meanwhile, if you like a little creativity and talent to go along with your maniac lead singers, go out and buy a Roky Erickson and the Aliens album.
