REVIEW: The Crabs, Sea and Sand / Old Time Relijun, Uterus
and Fire
- Andrew Duncan
When Teddy Roosevelt said, "Speak softly and carry a big stick," he must have been referring to Olympia, Washington, a small Northwest town located about 30 miles south of Seattle and home to the Olympia Underground.
In the early '90s, Calvin Johnson formed the Dub Narcotic Studios and K Records. Little did he predict the cult success of Olympia's collective of bands that create a diverse array of independent music.
To best demonstrate both sides of the spectrum, on one hand, there is the clean-pop sound of The Crabs. On the other, there is the junkyard punk of Old Time Relijun.
The Crabs are veterans of the Olympia scene recently completing their third release, Sand and Sea. What makes this album their best progressive work to date is the addition of Sarah Dougher, an Olympian who also plays in the all-female group Cadallaca. Her appearance with the band could not be more welcoming, shaping their lo-fi happiness. Her simple organ grinding only compliments Jon Lunsford's and Lisa Jackson's elegant vocals. "Tumbling Away" introduces the album with modestly catchy up-tempo beats reminiscent of the '80s college rock scene. "Market Size" only gets bolder. The album suddenly transforms into campfire nightlife as the band softens up with "Bricks of Gold" and the Galaxie 500 feel of "Snow in Summertime." Before it's over, the band wraps up with the amateurish surf-style of "I Surrender."
About as shocking as running into your pastor at the local porn shop, Old Time Relijun is the rusty nail sticking out of the Vatican. Forget about locking up your daughter, these boys are going straight for the preacher'swife. Old Time Relijun took notes from the Cramps circa late-1970s, and stunk up the room a little with their crazy anti-music establishment. Trust you me, it doesn't get more frightful than this.
From the opening incantation of "Dagger," guitarist and vocalist Arrington de Dionyso belts out vocals like Yma Sumac on Viagra. Immediately following, with "Archaeopteryx Claw," Dionyso grinds his own teeth as he vicariously groans caffeine-drenched words backed by Evrum's drum pounding that will burn blisters in your brain, not to mention the repeated guitar riffs that will leave permanent scars. And that's just the beginning. There's the juice harp exorcism of "Khomus," and the blues-rot of "Jail." After the trauma subsides, the band can hypnotically draw you back to insanely listen to more.
