So, this guy Quintron invented an oscillating drum machine (the Drum Buddy) that is light activated, patented, and has its own instructional video/infomercial. He's married to an eccentric puppeteer named Miss Pussycat, who opens all of his concerts with, of course, a puppet show. He is a one-man band who plays an antique organ as well as the Drum Buddy. Miss Pussycat occasionally pipes in with backing vocals and maracas, but every other sound comes from Quintron himself. His music is extremely lo-fi, New Orleans-style blues mixed with science fiction, b-movie soundtracks, television theme songs, punk ethos, self-ingratiating wanking, and gospel. He thinks all music reviewers are cynical bastards, and he claims he regrets it when his music lands in their hands.

I've seen Quintron live only once, but it was an amazing show. His energy and charisma make up for the rudimentary blues-infused music that sounds like scaled down Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Quintron loses himself in his music, which often causes him to set the Drum Buddy on auto pilot, grab an audience member to repeat a simple organ riff, and strip standing on his piano bench. Miss Pussycat gleefully shakes her maracas and coos into the microphone, her smile never wavering. It is a sweaty show for both Quintron and his audience because he demands participation. He believes that music should make you want to scream and shout and, of course, dance, which it successfully does in a live setting. Listening to Quintron on CD is another story, I'm afraid to say.

Unmasked Organ Light-Year Of Infinity Man is Quintron's seventh album. I'm told his early albums border on unlistenable, and if the lack of fidelity on this his seventh (!?) album is any indication, I believe it. The music sounds like someone who unknowingly left a dictaphone in his pocket accidentally recorded it. Not being able to see the Drum Buddy in action really takes away from the experience. To the uninitiated it would probably just sound like crickets being tortured, but Quintron scratches it like a turntable, forcing wild sounds out of it. Quintron's vocals flail and crack, and if you listen closely you can hear traces of his organ riffs. I'm not sure why Quintron stubbornly refuses to utilize modern technology to record his music. As it is now, only truly patient noise freaks could stomach this whole album, but, again, not because of the music but because of the awful sound quality. The frustrating thing is, Quintron's music would probably sound amazing if only given proper production.

Ironically, Quintron is not afraid to promote himself. Commercials for his own Rhinestone records fill the awkward gaps between songs, but you'd think that a guy who so fervently spreads the word of his gospel would want his listeners to enjoy themselves. Despite the strikes against it sonically, "Hurricane" shines above much of the unintelligible muck. It follows Quintron's philosophy that a song's chorus should be repeated as often as possible, and it's a mighty catchy lick. Quintron and Miss Kitty trade off vocals while he showcases his prowess on the organ. Sure, it goes on too long, but in concert it's probably irresistible. You can tell that many of these songs are toe-tapping rockers; maybe, it's all an elaborate scheme to get people out to his shows, though. Yeah, he writes catchy songs but purposely makes them sound like shit, so you'll be intrigued enough to hit the club when he's in your town. What else could it be? Regardless, you should go see him live, but, perhaps, skip out on the album.