By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
These past few years, the term garage rock has been bandied about in the mainstream press and on music channels in a way that could make one think there's some sort of revival going on. You know the names and the videos, but if you think a couple of Stooges and (Mick Taylor-era) Rolling Stones clones make for a real garage-rock experience, you're in for a surprise Thursday because Mr. Quintron is one of the artists who actually gets it right.
At first glance, Quintron's high-energy, organ-heavy music might be mistaken for the psychotronic ravings of a calliope operator at a defunct circus, or something you would expect to hear pouring out of the Munsters home on Saturday night. No doubt he's an eccentric artist the guy plays an organ built into the front end of a car but all the electronic gadgetry he has handcrafted into his almost one-man band demonstrates there's a real vision at work behind the madness.
The New Orleans resident and Miss Pussycat, his partner in crimes of art and love, have been the toasts of indie-rock circles for more than a decade he for cranking out his music and she for often bringing along her delightful puppet theater (which sadly will not be appearing this time). Witnessing them is like tromping through the psyche of your inner child after huffing a heavy dose of voodoo-laced swamp gas. Together they cast a colorful shade of spooky-natural across the entertainment landscape.
Much of Quintron's music is driving, hypnotic Sixties dance music à la the Seeds or Standells, complete with visions of go-go dancers from the Cramps-ed-out corners of the mind. However, don't mistake Quintron for being totally squaresville retro. He has benefited from 40 extra years of music history to develop his own richer style and borrowed from a number of other genres to become ... well ... Quintron. But he has faithfully retained that Sixties garage essence, a precarious balance between wholesomeness and worldliness that fell apart after the Summer of Love. Most important, though: He's loads of fun. Margaret Griffis