Enter the Mad Priestesses of Cello Goth: Rasputina's Cabin Fever

Scott Thill

Dolorous Melora and Company. "Rasputina staves off wearing their lush imagery like a gimmick -- the difference is the music."

For those of you looking to get your alt-goth fix in between waiting for the next Souixise and the Banshees tour, meet Rasputina, the all-female, cello-based brainchild of the very talented -- and very funny -- Melora Creager. A classically trained cellist who thankfully burst with aplomb out your run-of-the-mill stuffy symphony hall pantsuit, Creager turned heads backing Nirvana's final tour (dropping some gorgeous cello on "Dumb" and other songs) before Cobain headed to grunge heaven, at which point she placed some ads looking for other similarly-minded eccentrics to form a rock band.

And what a strange rock band it is, too. After going through a couple lineup changes and putting out a few eclectic releases -- one, a cleverly titled EP called Translyvanian Regurgitations, featuring remixes from dark arts fanatic and Rasputina fan, Marilyn Manson -- the music and imagery mold was firmly set in place. Take one look at the art found on their latest release, Cabin Fever, featuring Creager and mates dressed up (or down?) in their tight Victorian bodices, titillating bloomers, push-up bras and black boots -- in front of some cool-as-shit Gothic artwork, including a two-page shot echoing John Everett Millais' canonical Ophelia -- and you've set the table for an occult musical experience.

Raiding the Gothic image bank. "Include a two-page shot echoing John Everett Millais' canonical Ophelia and you've set the table for an occult musical experience."

Except Rasputina staves off wearing their lush imagery like a gimmick, unlike most Goth outfits -- it actually comes off feeling more like a work ethic, and the difference is the music. Sprinkled with jagged noise and sound effects (splashing water, seagulls, odd drum patterns, etc.), Cabin Fever nevertheless carries its classical heart proudly. "Gingerbread Coffin" carries some soaring cello lines, matched by Creager's understated sing-song vocals about raising a dead doll back into the world of the living. "Thimble Island" is a catchy-as-hell lament, buttressed by spirited backing vocals, about a search for love that seems to never end. And although Creager's vocal abilities aren't as strong as either of them, "Sweet Water Kill (The Ocean Song)" floats out of your headphones the way so many of Kate Bush's airy tales have in the past, while "Clipped" sounds like something right of PJ Harvey's pre-New York stories backlog.

Classically trained cellists, indeed! Creager's mates sound the alarm.

Speaking of, PJ -- along with Bjork -- gets to be the target of one of Cabin Fever's standout tracks, the hilarious sex satire, "PJ + Vincent & Matthew + Bjork". Literally too hard to explain, PJ and Bjork "artistic and exclusive double date" skewers the two stars' eccentricities as they discuss a foursome among other things during a picnic. "I know Bjork can fight like a mutherfucker but Polly would snap like a twig at the smallest tackle", says former football player Vincent, as they also discuss the possibility of tossing the pigskin around. As a fan of both those artists, I've got to say it is one of the funniest things I have ever heard, worth the price of the disc alone.

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But aside from the skewering, Cabin Fever's other fine features are the various songs featuring strange arrangements backed by pounding, synthetic drums, such as "Cross Walk", whose Bernard Hermann-like middle break brings Psycho to mind, an image that conveniently fits into a song about a woman who cries, "Why is my bleeding heart beating?", over and over again. Same goes with the electric stomp of "State Fair" -- about a boy from the past unlike the rest selling "curly fries" (!) -- or the kinetic, cutting "Rats", tunes that rock much harder than anything else on the album. Remember, these aren't your grandfather's Gothic maidens.

Except, that is, when Creager gets emotional over the various moving cello and vocal lines found on "Remnants of Percy Bass" ("I try to help him how I can/But he has forgotten who I am/Remember, some things are not made to last"). By far Cabin Fever's finest tune -- aside from the riotous PJ/Bjork satire, that is -- "Remnants of Percy Bass" offers Creager the chance to chuck the tongue-in-cheek jabs that pop up here and there in favor of some blood-and-guts singing that really shows off what she can do. It's a star turn, and it might leave you wishing there was more of it.

But like Rasputin who came before them, Rasputina have just as much fun playing sexually debauched rakes as they do playing earnest monks, a collusion of energies and types that more often than not produce a good time with some bracing musical work. Plus, Melora Creager's version of the Feminine is a refreshing alternative to the distilled (through Pepsi?) corporate version of J.Lo, Britney, et. al. found on AOL's mainscreen everyday.

So break out Peter Weir's Picnic at Hanging Rock, your garters and bodices, and get Rasputina's party started.

Scott Thill -- a media fanatic who finds the time to write on everything that does not include the words "boy band" -- is a gainfully employed dotcom editor currently finishing his first novel, The Dangerous Perhaps.