Every once in a while, even cynical music critics are reminded of just how much they don't know, like when Plato's education revealed his ignorance to him. So, while I would like to say that I'd heard the Denver Gentlemen, the truth is, the band is more mythical and ambiguous than Keyser Soze; even those in inner circles have a only a fleeting and piecemeal understanding. Everything I learned I had to acquire through diligent, proactive research. In that sense, a good cult band is always a bit of a tragedy-- underexposed and underappreciated.

For years the Denver Gentlemen were Mile High's unique sound spectacle. As with other groups that have more talent than elbow room, it turned into a carousel band, with alumni flying off to form their signature projects-- David Eugene Edwards and Jean Yves Tola into 16 Horsepower, Slim Cessna and Frank Hauser, Jr of the former's famous Auto Club. But those people all departed well before Jeffrey-Paul Norlander took the final five members, accompanied by his own fevered musical vision, into Denver's Bug Theatre one hot August day in '95. Recording the twelve tracks live resulted in a disc bereft of polish and production, and hands-off mastering preserved the intimacy that a live-take album acquires automatically.

Then, in an act of calculated indifference, Norlander left the songs to rot in someone's drawer. The album became, as the idiom goes, "long lost." Actually, what really happened was that Norlander joined 16 Horsepower as the multi-instrumentalist for their Low Estate album, and the Gentlemen fell by the wayside. It hardly matters, though. Introducing... belongs in neither the 20th nor the 21st Century. What's a mere six years to an alternate-universe album of this sort?

Introducing... has a Pentecostal church-shack fervor. Listening to Norlander's vibrato oscillate between drawl and howl is like walking into a rural snakepit of weird religion, tension, and dangerously high emotion. You're the outsider, make no mistake, and you hardly knew this world existed. Norlander plays the part of the charismatic dervish at the pulpit singing his sermons instead of preaching them. The congregation sways to Appalachian folk, gospel, klezmer, country blues, Ruskie trad, campaign trail fanfare, church hymn, rag, honk and tonk-- all here, albeit soldered into something artistic and unrecognizable.

The album shares the theatrical flair of Tom Waits' grandiose flop, The Black Rider, minus the unwieldy conceit of concept. An audit of Norlander's record stacks would likely reveal other influences like Nick Cave, Hungarian folk instrumentalists Muszikas, the Pogues and maybe even Atlanta's Smoke. Though chances are, you'd probably have to ask your granddad to decipher the names and faces on the majority of his collection. More primordial than 16 Horsepower, or any other extant, for that matter, "alt-country" band, the Denver Gentlemen reach into the listener's collective unconscious and tickle it.

The dark carnival ride, "When the Lord, He Speak to Me," sets the tone right off the bat, landing somewhere between Camper Van Beethoven's "The Fool" and Neutral Milk Hotel. "The Blue Parrot" follows with a creepy accordion and brushed-snare song skeleton. At no time does Norlander sound more eccentric than when he asks: "I take a cotton to ya' Can-Can lady.../ Do you pray with your knees on the floor?/ Do you love your shambled way?" The Eastern European trad sound of "The Potter's Field Special" is a wholly terrifying and captivating stomp 'n grunt. The song alternately lurches forward and stumbles to a halt. Norlander achieves greatness in the melody of "The Legs of Polka (for Jeremy)" which has the waltzing grace of a piano bar ballad. The beautiful hesitations in the chorus are delivered with stand-up bassist Valerie Terry providing angelic backup harmony.

It all adds up to 52 too-brief minutes of spine-tingling atmosphere. The Denver Gentlemen are consummate musicians who play the spooky, windswept songs of a man touched by either God or the Devil. Which one is irrelevant; this debut is supernatural. The fact that the world had to wait five years to hear it is, quite simply, a mortal sin.

-John Dark