A few years ago, after Ween released quebec, a typically bizarre mash of Floydian psych-dramas and winsome ditties about anti-depressants, Pitchfork writer Eric Carr summed up the album (and the band) thusly: “…but nothing I say makes any difference. It’s Ween. Their fans love them, and the rest of you don’t care.”

Most people who merely dabbled in Ween probably gave up long ago – I'm guessing around 12 Golden Country Greats, the band’s deft and hilarious Nashville album, if in fact you made it that far – but those who’ve stuck around have been treated to one hell of an interesting ride. Few bands have done as much to cultivate this somewhat cultish but completely rabid fanbase, releasing countless rarities collections (Shinola, Vol. 1 was the latest) and live discs. Lead guitarist Dean Ween fills the band’s website with his best Italian recipes, fishing stories, and a tour diary as funny as you’d expect from the biggest wiseacres around. And the latest is “Brown Tracker”, a program designed to facilitate live mp3 file sharing for Ween and its members’ numerous side projects.

But the band’s never fit into any scene, and probably do more to avoid genre pigeonholing than any band going. Take their latest, La Cucaracha. Opening with the mildly rocking, horn-accented party instrumental “Fiesta”, it then veers as only Ween can veer, into the uncomfortably druggy “Blue Balloon”, the vaguely Euro-disco “Friends”, and “My Own Bare Hands”, an explicit tune about exactly what you think it’d be about. Dean Ween described it as a "party record, unlike our last record (quebec) which was more of a Jonestown type party vibe”.

Maybe so. It's a fittingly bizarre return to their roots, bending and aping genres while sounding as right and truly messed up as they did on The Pod and Pure Guava. But unlike those nitrous-infused early albums, this one's (marginally) more mature and definitely more listenable. It might lack the immediate appeal of their sharpest pop songs ("Joppa Road", "Stay Forever", "Ocean Man"), but the spirit of the Boognish (the band's resident mascot/deity) has returned. And any true Ween fan will tell you that the band is that same beast in concert, perhaps even more so: 3 hour sets, sprinkled with material from every corner of their catalog and performed with a goofball sense of humor and a knowing wink and nod towards classic rock showmanship.

They kick off a quick run through the South tonight with their first stop in D.C. since 2005, and their first ever at Constitution Hall. A little curious to see what "Spinal Meningitis", "Reggaejunkiejew" or "Poop Ship Destroyer" sound like in the hallowed ground of the Daughters of the American Revolution? Yeah, us too.

Tickets are still available for $34. 8 p.m.