The Wild Boys Are Calling
By Jimmy Draper

Rocket Fuel Magazine
December, 1999

"I don't need a pet when I have Duran Duran's Decade greatest hits CD to keep me warm at night," declares Otto Matik, lead singer of the Olympia-via-Austin-via-Sussex trio (huh?), the Prima Donnas. "I like 'Wild Boys' mostly."

It's an unsurprising confession: 1/3 homosexual and 2/3 homosexy, the Prima Donnas dive into new wave and come up somewhere between Duran Duran and Devo. They're all hot and bothered circa "Hungry Like The Wolf" -- they're on a hunt, they're after you, daring you to call their bluff and blow their cover. Using keyboards, sometimes-coonvincing cockney accents and smug brattiness, the trio -- Matik and keyboardists Nikki Holiday and Julius Seizure (nyuk, nyuk) -- have brought their ramshackle, homemade British Invasion to American soil (Austin then Olympia, to be exact) nearly two decades after Simon LeBon and co. exported their girls on film and Rio dancers to the USA.

So who are these sassy lads? Rumors persist about prostitution, orphanages, fake accents and dead twins, but the Prima Donnas aren't about to set the story straight. After all, the tabloids eat this stuff up, and these boys aren't ones to deny the public their entertainment. In other words, it'll be a sunny day in Sussex before anyone gets to the bottom of all their tricks and treats.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Prima Donnas

"Nikki is weird," Matik says of his bandmate. "He is into sex, boys, men, erotic literature and cinema, pornography, and role playing. He is kind of a blank slate who too often thinks with his little brain instead of his big one. I think of him like that deformed monster in Goonies.." Holiday is also responsible for the band's musical direction: "He really understands primal sexual impulse and doesn't give two shits about technique or beauty."

Of Seizure: "Julius is weird. He is into disturbing subjects like the occult, devil worship, perversion, anarchy, and Australia ... He's much tougher than you or I, I can tell you that. He is a fighter. He's the 'Strongest Runt on Earth.' That's what Father Heathcliff at the orphanage used to call Julius. He has got the most soul of all the Prima Donnas. He is the Prima Donnas."

So how does Matik describe himself? "I am normal ... I love shopping and talking on the phone and Jennifer Aniston." He's also the band's lyricist, though he admits to occasionally plagiarizing from poems ("Barnes and Noble has a lot of poem books." So which books, exactly, have verses about cock sucking machines and stoned partying?)

Despite the idea that the good ol' US of A has something for everybody, the Prima Donnas aren't adjusting well to the American way of life. "America sucks, end of fucking story. We have the Queen. You have Dairy Queen. Most of America is a fucking continent of shit wasteland and everyone knows it. There are a few pockets of cool, though. I'll admit it. Texas is great. The people there are not whiny wimps like the rest of America. That mountain that looks like it's in the shape of four faces is cool. Beaches are cool. Olympia sucks. This place is a fucking drear. It's torture, man."

Yet, like many people, the band has found that this wasteland's torture is more tolerable with a few drinks under their belts. "Live, recorded, in almost any situation, alcohol is a definite must [for the band's music]. For some reason you have to be quite inebriated to appreciate our music. Some say it's because we are terrible." Or perhaps it's because this country's punk rockers, unless drunk, are too self-conscious to bust a move to the Prima Donnas' new wave dance craze.

'Tis A Drear, Man

After their domestic debut (the wildly propulsive "She Had Alien Written All Over Her" 7" on Peek-A-Boo), the trio put out a follow-up single, "Head Full of Pills," on Kill Rock Stars. That 7" succeeds because, unlike most those-were-the-good-ol'-days anthems, the A-side actually makes you believe you missed out. Matik sings in an off-key, elastic whine that avoids angst when he laments, "The bittersweet memory reminds me how it used to be/All damn summer with a head full of pills." It would be poignant if he missed more than a drugged-out euphoria. Instead, it's the morning after: all hungover and reminiscing about the previous night's adventures.

The band's demo tape is full of such striking moments: the relentless, merciless "Reagan's Dead," the dance floor-bound "Skin of Another Man," and the exquisitely dreamy "Stoned Like a White Balloon," to name but a few. Think David Bowie. Think Talking Heads. Think "Rio."

Unfortunately, a full-length album is only in vague planning stages. "Hopefully we will release a full-length domestically soon, but Julius is still pretending to be a vampire in New York and we haven't spoken to him in months. Perhaps Nikki and I can go ahead and finish things up without him, but I haven't spoken to the label in ages, either. 'Tis a drear, man."