The Lowdown, Arrington de Dionyso of Old Time Relijun & Cock Fight!

Walking through the house party's front door on a rainy Thursday evening, it was as if I was passing into another time. There in the living room stood a man and his guitar, dripping with fervor, midway through a feverish display of captivating music. With the crowd filing in, pressing their backs against every available inch of wall space, Arrington de Dionyso faced us in a trance-like state, striking a sparse meter on his laminated plywood electric guitar, his eyes closed, as if summoning some spirit from deep within and channeling it through vocal chords and fingertips. To stand and watch this performance was to step into another place, a fabled scene that was born and had died long before our time.
The space and time between songs was inhabited only by the hushed silence of the audience and the gentle hum of a single-coil guitar pickup. To speak above a whisper seemed somehow inappropriate. Transfixed, the audience bore a line between themselves and the solo performer, a barrier made apparent through their awe. Some may not have known what to make of this set that bordered on spectacle - a few retreated outside for cigarettes and rain splatter - but the vast majority of the audience remained spellbound.
I never heard an explanation why the rest of Arrington's group, Old Time Relijun, didn't appear this evening. However, I couldn't imagine witnessing a more fulfilling performance. Perched on the arms of a sofa, clad in biker shorts and his own band's T-shirt (a serious no-no, according to many from the hipper-than-thou set), Arrington temporarily transformed the living room into a speakeasy, clinging to his bass clarinet, wailing like an instrumental beat poet: squawks, moans and whispered laments. As Synthesis Associate Editor Daniel Taylor would say, it was "on some shit." His impassioned performance concluded with a cross-cultural event of astounding proportions. Mouth up to the microphone, Arrington began playing the Jew's harp (also known as the mondharp or jaw harp), at first arrhythmic, but slowly gaining a beat through his mouth's fluctuations. Then he began adding another layer of rhythm by breathing into the mic in rolling patterns, a sound resembling a snare drum. Then to top it all off, Arrington started throat singing, a droning vocal technique which involves creating two or three tones at the same time, the highest tone somewhat resembling a flute. This may very well have been the most entertaining show I've seen in a long time.
During the set change, I spoke briefly with my photographer Ben, who had caught the first act, Cock Fight! (I had shown up too early, as in 45 minutes after the show was supposed to start, left, and came back a bit too late). According to him, the duo's performance involved prerecorded chicken sounds, a simple speech computer program which narrated the band's hilarious accompanying slideshow and a stage set consisting of a wooden house which was erected around the drum kit. Purportedly, it was "really good."
The unbearably loud keyboard attacks emanating from inside the house alerted everyone outside that Santa Cruz's The Lowdown was about to begin. In the months since I last saw the band they've tightened up considerably, placing much more emphasis on hitting the beats together instead of just giving in to their brand of messy chaos. Yet that chaos is, and will always be, a trademark of their unique sound. With the eerie illumination of a single green light bulb to guide their hands, the group tore through uppity, pre-post experimental new wave music at accelerated speeds and playful intensity. The drummer, Noel Harmonson, with his elbows rarely leaving his midriff, played spastic rhythms with stunted dexterity, providing not only cantankerous metrical assaults, but a curiously engrossing stage element as well. Imagine a determined Tyrannosaurus Rex flailing behind a drum set and that may give you some idea as to the entertainment value of his actions alone. The stiff movements on behalf of the lead singer / guitarist Hugh Holden, along with his unorthodox bratty singing technique and lyrical content, added to the group's awkward charm. Josh Alper, who alternated between 12-string electric guitar and keyboards, executed his key parts in the form of tone clusters: cupping his hands and hitting the ebonies and ivories in an excited frenzy, he turned his old Casio boards into percussion instruments, their tones blasting and bleating along with the forceful drumming. Toward the end of The Lowdown's set, in an unabashed display of presence, the drummer stood up, grabbed his hi-hat by its stalk, suspended it in the air and beat the rhythm up over his head, while still keeping a quarter-note pulse with his kick drum. The set was fairly short, but nevertheless quite entertaining.
A special cheers for the house's residents, and all those who put the show together, for not letting this show slip through our town's fingers.
- Maurice S. Teilmann
- photos by Ben Kerney

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