[This review was first published in Badaboom Gramophone #3 and appears here with permission.]
The realm of idiot-savant rock is unfortunately littered with sad comedy, accidental sociology and inept cuddle-pop. Leave it to the Finns to make maladjusted wonder worthwhile again. Liimanarina leader Olli Pauke grabs the Jad Fair, Jandek and Daniel Johnston childlike-lost-soul-oddball stereotype by its nuts and turns it ass-side-out with a wild, drunken demeanor, angry pipsqueak ranting and a deliciously ugly sick sense of humor. Musically, elements of the tender years of Half Japanese, the Fall and Pussy Galore get chopped and puréed with a fair amount of vodka and rah-rah-rah stomping ethnic music (Pauke calls it “snot-folk”). Tinny acoustic and electric guitars battle, argue and stumble over blunt but seductively catchy melodies. The results are horrendously recorded and slathered over with occasional metal percussion and distorted Casio dink. Tapes of swearing, heavy-breathing and answering machine blabber fill gaps between songs. The bewildering experience of listening to Liimanarina (which means, uh, “Glue Creak”) will either make you want to jump up and cheer or sprint for the nearest toilet. At any rate, it will make the average K Records fan cry and run home to Calvin.
The early EPs are ironically the most hi-fi. Perhaps they’re four-track instead of condenser mic recordings. The consistently winning soundalikes set a rapid-fire pace. The fist-pumping punk of “Piitles” and “Turistit” from Maailman Tylsin Vittumaisuus are first-rate. Elsewhere, a tornado of crudeness strikes gross vignettes finished off by screeching lock grooves. Despite all the deliberate annoyances, Pauke’s knack for good old-fashioned songwriting and tunefulness shines through. I mean, shit, some of this would do Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard proud. At least in spirit. The third EP (“recorded somewhere between Tampere and hell”) is more acoustic but every bit as abrasive. It credits two folks with “co-operation in cock-sucking.”
Spermarket (cute) is a juvenile pinnacle by virtue of its translated lyric sheet. Americans can now understand merely a quarter or so of Liimanarina’s grim humor, but at least songtitles like “Guess I Should Just Quit Pornography” and “I Hate Everything but Matlock” will make us smile. Pauke reveals himself as a uniquely, er, gifted lyricist. “Raili fills her house with the sort of furniture / That goes to show she’s just an unimaginative shithead / In fact, I’ve often wondered where have all the shitheads gone,” and “Even the janitor never dared to visit us / Cos he was afraid we’d fuck anything that moves / But on the other hand, his son is a gay and a nerd” are just the tip of his poop-covered iceberg of Estonian jokes, pop culture foulness and quizzical racial slurs.
A trio of Pauke, stalwart drummer Karri Pettersson and bassist Tuomo Nykånen (Kake Puhuu left after the first EP to form the “avant-garde vaudeville” project Keuhkot), Liimanarina distances itself from normal musical development by adopting an even sloppier, more primitive and less cohesive approach on LP. The material is a leap forward, mixing enthusiastic fits with fried traditional-sounding “ballads.” This dilutes some of the punk energy, though the abysmal recording and mastering are probably more at fault. (Just check the redone “hits” from the EPs.) Yet, there’s something awfully spirited about this fucker in small doses. The indigestibility of it all — in contrast to those compact 45s — is only a slight bummer. The CD of Spermarket makes up for its lack of lock grooves by adding at least 20 unbearable minutes of answering machine maw. That’s entertainment.