The Dutchmen: Dirty Rock
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The Dutchmen smell, curse, play real loud, and take the piss out of everything – the consummate rock n’ roll band.

“I’m going to scratch my nose, is that ok?”

Yeah, sure man, that’s just fine. I would have called him a smarmy son-of-a-bitch but the guy probably would have said thank you and been along his merry way, the perfect belly rub to the comedy of the situation. Of course, it is entirely my fault, and he seized the moment as quick as wit. Joel Morgan (bass/vocals) of The Dutchmen is on the other end of the line, on speakerphone, with his band mate Damon Ranieri (guitar/vocals). I made the mistake of asking the two if they could somehow let me know which of them was talking.

And it rolled on from there, the torn pages of a dirty rock band’s diary, written in riddles of Morgan’s absurdity and Ranieri’s solemnity; the big bushy beard and the head full of hair. But the moral of the story, kids, is that the true meaning of rock n’ roll is embodied in The Dutchmen – filthy, fucking fun.

Filthy, fucking fun begins on the road and The Dutchmen (who also include in their ranks Gabe Schechter on guitar and vocals and Dale Salentiny on drums and vocals) press lips to hot American asphalt in support of their four-song EP, Orangewhip. But sometimes the asphalt bites back. Ranieri tells of the trials and tribulations of playing in Baltimore where not seeing money for a gig is a common occurrence and Morgan aptly outlines the proper (and filthy, fucking fun) way to handle the situation and the guy who booked you.

“You get to get angry and throw a garbage can across the room. And then if that guy ever comes to your city you make sure his nose winds up broken before he leaves. Is that fit to print?”

Anything is fit to print, Mr. Morgan. I’ve already said the word fuck three times so far. You can say anything you want, dude. This is rock n’ roll. And we’re talking about the road, which isn’t the least bit unsettling to Morgan despite the speed bumps.

“We’re fucking warriors, man. Nothing will takes its toll on us,” he says.

So I invite him north of the border, with a gentle reminder that he might want to watch out for SARS. It is an epidemic, after all.

“I think I’m pretty much SARS-proof if I get enough vermin in me,” Morgan replies.

The filthy rock star is immune to life-threatening diseases it seems. One need not get a lot of vermin in them if they are, in fact, vermin. Morgan sees it another way.

“We’re like superheroes, dude.”

Ranieri throws the counter punch, the more plausible explanation, if such a thing exists in the madcap world of road trips and rock shows.

“What you want to do is not shower because then you build up a layer of what I call ‘defense dirt,’” he explains. “And then you are able to fend off any and all diseases except for the ones your produce yourself.”

Morgan adds: “I kind of took it from Lemmy (Kilmeister, of Motorhead) who said, ‘I want to be the filthiest band in the world. If I moved next door to you, your lawn would die.’ That’s the goal I am shooting for.”

It is at this point I count my stars that this is not a face-to-face interview. But I suppose if you are going to be a filthy rock band you have to play the part, live the music, say, ‘No thank you’ to soap and water.

“Showering really doesn’t become an issue because no one really does,” says Ranieri. “Except for Dale, who is the absolute other end of the spectrum when it comes to showering and will go insane if he doesn’t have a shower every day.”

Seems like one of The Dutchmen isn’t keeping up his end of the bargain.

“I think Dale was actually put on the planet by Johnson & Johnson to promote their products,” says Ranieri.

“He likes the Gold Bond powder,” adds Morgan. “He likes to powder the bag every now and then.”

Despite Salentiny’s passion for hygiene, The Dutchmen are a tight brotherhood of dirty rock n’ rollers, all sweaty denim and old, faded rock tees. Filthy, fucking fun is knowing that the guy standing next to you on stage is playing his heart out for you.

“Everybody pretty much gets along,” explains Ranieri. “Everyone has their little quirks that make them equally annoying to the person next to them. It’s kind of like a bunch of brothers, but really young brothers that like to bicker all the time. But it always ends up working out fine.”

Morgan expresses his love for the boys in the band the only way he knows how.

“Fuck these guys. I can’t stand ‘em, man. If I have to spend another minute in this room with Damon’s stank ass I am going to punch him.”

I make a note to myself to drag the interview on a bit longer then planned. I want to be here when Morgan attacks Ranieri. But until then I want to find out as much as I can about The Dutchmen’s brand of filthy rock, a classic, fuzzy, punk-twisted-metal, concocted deep within the bowels of a dank garage. Garage rock is an apt title for what The Dutchmen do, as it speaks more to their philosophy of music than anything else.

“If garage is actually what you do and not what you sound like then yeah, we’re a garage band,” explains Morgan.

Ranieri goes deeper with the philosophy.

“I’m going to get up on stage and do what I want to do because I think that’s the thing I should be doing, and if the people that I am playing for aren’t into what I am doing they have every right to leave the room.”

Morgan goes deeper still.

“It kind of weeds the pussies out.”

The Dutchmen aren’t for pussies. They grab you by the throat and spit in your face, a gauntlet of rock thrown down by four raunchy guys who adopt many musical outfits. Filthy, fucking fun is switching instruments on stage and having everyone in the band sing.

“Everybody’s got a distinct voice and we’re very, very fortunate for that because it is able to give us a lot of textures and contrasts in what we are doing,” explains Ranieri. “If we want to have a screaming part followed by a singing part, we’re able to give certain people certain parts to get the effect we’re looking for.”

“We’re looking for a rapper right now,” says Morgan sarcastically.

Someone with some turntable skills, perhaps?

“Yes, a turntablist.”

Well, it’s been more than a minute and Morgan never ended up punching Ranieri’s stank ass. That doesn’t mean, however, that Morgan’s insatiable appetite for violence has been whetted. With one last parting shot, he blurts out: “Don’t misquote me or I’ll kill you!”

I tell him I will make him sound like a bumbling idiot.

“Great,” he says, “that’s not a far trip.”

Filthy, fucking fun is having enough presence of mind to end an interview with the same wit you began it with, like a seasoned comedian leaving the room on a high note. And like a seasoned comedian, Morgan manages to steal the last word. That’s cool, though. It was his and Ranieri’s show anyway, the filthy, fucking bastards.

Not Really Dutch: The Dutchmen
Even Less Dutch: Jeff Warren