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Old Time Relijun



This is a hate-gospel ultra-garage horror show like nothing you've ever encountered before. Singer Arrington de Dionyso sings hellish nightmare-fantasy lyrics about fire and poison and babies and snakes and dragons in a voice that sounds like its owner is in the process of being disemboweled. The rest of the band (Aaron Hartman on standup bass and the Microphones' Phil Elvrum on percussion) join him to create a cacophonous assault of lo-fi instrumentation that ranges from the cruddiest drums and guitar you've ever heard in your life to banjos and Jew's Harps to squeaky alto sax and bass clarinet wanderings that border on free noise, sounding like everything from metal against metal to the noise of swamp insects at night. This band might be from Olympia, but they possess the kind of evangelical dementia of parishioners at a Baptist church on a Louisiana bayou recently infiltrated by minions of the devil.

"Moon" and "Carceratero" come from Old Time Relijun's 1999 release La Sirena de Pecera. "Carceratero" is the Italian version of the song "Jail," from their 1998 debut, Uterus and Fire. The record is made weirder still by liner notes covered with de Dionyso's twisted line drawings, which look a bad acid trip through Narnia.

The group's third full-length release, 2001's Witchcraft Rebellion, is just as outlandish as the first two, full of lurching, spasmodic, lo-fi, modern primitivism, yet their overall vision has become -- dare I say it? -- slightly more coherent. The thirteen songs on the record are a startling synthesis of dirty '60s surf and garage rock and violent free jazz, delivered with the fuck-all attitude of punk. An eclectic and original approach, to be sure. "Vampire Sushi" comes from that album.

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