The Dolomites want to entertain you. If you make it to Chelsea’s tomorrow night, its members probably will.
The Portland-based group doesn’t fit neatly into any musical category. Owing more to the wobbly punk group The Pogues than anyone else, The Dolomites bare no resemblance to any mainstream influence, let alone anyone from here. Consider the group a roving circus quintet, drunk and belching seaman’s cheers with a pirate’s ferocity.
They’re more easily defined by their unpredictable on-stage theatrics than anything else. Previous auditors of this group have described a whimsical, gypsy-like bunch who make use of exotic instruments such as the accordion, bouzouki, clarinet, banjo, glockenspiel and other rarely found percussion tools. The ‘mites are famous for cooking up snacks for its audience while on stage, a campaign its labeled “sMeLL the MuziK.” Members have served up actual goodies like onion rings and gumbo from the stage, and audiences seem to enjoy it.
Musically speaking, the group is rooted in traditional Irish folk with bits of Tom Waits, Ween and Frank Zappa bubbling to the top. The group’s leader, Koji B. a.k.a. Mickey Splatz a.k.a. Stevhen Iancu, is a Japanese-Romanian cross-breed with a flair for the off-kilter.
“I’ve always been into more common things, sort of eccentric, non-standard stuff,” he said. “I got interested in The Pogues in high school, when I wanted to start a punk band. But punk was sort of … getting on my nerves, I guess, so I figured The Pogues approach to punk would work.”
That’s what led Iancu to his high school pal Max Skewes, an Irish emigrant who shared an affinity for The Pogues and off-kilter musical delirium. The two recruited drummer Blonque, a formally trained percussionist snatched from a circus marching band, and bassist Eric Longbine. Larsie Franco contributes saxophones while Dr. Nate Twiggs adds banjo and clarinet.
The group’s new album, “The Medicine Show,” spews raucous stomps like “Thousand Bees,” a wobbling dervish equivalent to a cracked-out rendition of a medieval wizard’s theme. One critic described the sound as, “Not demonic in the pure animal sacrifice sense, but more of a cartoony ‘Pee Wee’s Big Adventure’ kind of way.”
“Lobotomy Bay,” another of their standards, is a wayward shiphand’s last hurrah before a voyage at sea. Saturated with Celtic lyres and plunking guitars, the song doesn’t offer a spare moment to surface for breath.
The Dolomites are keen on holding its audience’s attention. Whenever members sense the crowd wandering during the show, they’ll blast an air-horn as a wake-up call to the spectators. The band uses every available trick, be it woodwinds or free snacks, to win a crowd over, but this band’s more than smoke and mirrors. Music is a top priority for this group; they’re just trying to keep it interesting. Spectators tomorrow night won’t soon forget the experience.