About the Artist

Do you like to sleep in cars? Do you perform at your best when you are flat broke working two jobs and have barely had any sleep? Are you comfortable with the kick drum as your pillow? Do you find your friendships are cemented through bloodshed and fisticuffs? Then you my friend are ready to witness the apocalyptic fury of the Orientalists. With little but vigor and broken instruments the Orientalists here set forth on a bypass to otherness. Huge distorted tomes of imperialist propaganda, subjugation and racism melt away into air, if for only moment, replaced by huge droning distorted rock pouring forth into the void with revolutionary fervor.

Front and center, the Farfisa organ is delivered hot and steamy... yet quite palatable. It is a classic Rock sound somehow not overly retro, in this case forward looking, almost futuristic. This is flavor not used sparingly when sprinkled throughout this exotic dish. It is a sound for the ears of those adepts in the upper echelons of the Mysteries.

The Orientalists meticulously weave a thick Persian rug of sound. The guitar and bass, with purpose yet not in unison, seem to mesh as they twist and intertwine. They create a matrix of streaming consciousness. Culinarists might call it a bouillabaisse or gumbo.

Driving the backbone, the asynchronous, illusive beat is more like a call to arms, whipping the masses into a fanatical fury. Rhythmically, the listener is pounded with a backbeat as solid as the backbone of a dinosaur. (This is feeding time). This band is dynamic as well. We're talking M80's and K88's.

When the Orientalists are mad, the vocalist's angry accusations are one part anti-heroesque and one part arabesque. It is a wrecker of engines, a Lawrence of Arabia, a sonic assault on your oppressive, decrepit regimes. A proclamation calling for the return to the old rites and mysteries of the ancients. A sonic feast fit for the farewell of kings.

When the Orientalists are cool, they deliver Bowie style disco or prom-rock in the fashion of King Crimson. Not stylistically punk, fashion conscious or MTV approved... a sort of dead guy in the trunk. They found their droning carpet sound at a furniture store in the Bronx. The Orientalists lionize the Lo-Fi and shun the pre-packaged. Like a trumpet of modernity blasting down the Walls of your Rock paradigm. Listen to this band not on your iPod, but rather on an old Walkman or a Denon stereo, or better yet a Victrola.

Regardless, you will find the sounds are frequently raw, yet suddenly quiet and Sphinx-like. Don't be surprised when you are suddenly engulfed by their blistering sand storm. It is all part of their subtle ruse to leave you helpless when they attack like marauding desert hordes with an army of Rock volume.

Are you prepared to brawl with this group? Then prepare for the day when the earth is rent asunder (40) and all you're left with is the taste of blood in your mouth from the kick drum.