THE RESIDENTS

The Residents began their anonymous vigil on the outer fringes of pop culture by cloaking their identity behind defaced portraits of The Beatles (see: "Meet the Residents"). For their second studio album, ignoring for now the myths about the 'Not Available' LP, the band carried that same love/hate relationship with Rock 'n Roll to its logical climax.

Almost fifty studio albums later (and counting) this may still be the one essential Residents experience, in two side-long medleys collecting some of the greatest hits of the 1960s, all of them sliced, diced, and gleefully eviscerated in the usual avant-art Residential blender. Contrary to the sleeve notes it's not a parody album, which would have been too easy and superficial. The joke extends much further than that, to a canny satire of the business behind the music, with the provocative album title and troubling references to National Socialism reminding listeners about the corporate dictatorship controlling their musical tastes (the album is dedicated "to the thousands of little power-mad minds of the music industry").

But there's also an explicit suggestion that this mish-mash of twisted alternative pop is what American Top-40 radio would have sounded like in the more creative environment of Krautrock Germany. There's Dick Clark on the front cover, wearing a Nazi armband and clutching a bright orange carrot. And here's Chubby Checker, introducing "Let's Twist Again" in a mock Teutonic accent, just before the song is flushed down the studio toilet. And who's the soprano doing that warped operatic imitation of James Brown (again, singing in German)?

The whole thing is a lo-fi laff riot. Nobody ever demolished a musical icon quite like The Residents, and their tinker-toy arrangement of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" is hereby offered as proof. And yet even at its silliest the album correctly identifies the acne-scarred adolescent longing and lust at the heart of all those bubblegum ditties: listen to the raw animal lechery in the chorus of "Good Lovin'", or the drooling menace behind the invitation to "Come on, baby, Light My Fire..." Who knows? The Residents might actually challenge your perceptions of what music could and should be, while dressed like Clansmen in nothing but recycled newspapers (see their "Third Reich 'n Roll" promotional video).

And beyond the obvious subversion of the concept itself the album can also be enjoyed as an ice-breaker at any dull party: in between rounds of Twister you and your friends can play Spot-That-Tune! Don't worry about the uneasy sense of disorientation and nausea you might feel while hearing it. But if the music starts to sound halfway normal after a couple of spins, be very afraid.

Like The Residents, I'm a subscriber to the Theory of Obscurity. In a nutshell (and is there anything about this band not in a nutshell?) the theory says any act of creativity, whether music or painting or poetry, is immediately compromised when considering a possible audience. The purest forms of artistic expression are therefore always selfish, and can only be produced in a commercial vacuum.

It was the guiding principle behind what may or may not have been their second studio album, supposedly recorded in 1974 and never intended for public exposure, but released four years later when their ambitious "Eskimo" project fell behind schedule. That's the official version of the story, but like a lot of Residential legends it sounds more like a marketing ploy.

The Theory itself is still valid, of course. And obviously attractive to a band without an audience to begin with. If nothing else, their total lack of commercial appeal liberated the group to make what still stands as their richest, deepest, and weirdest album ever, quite an accomplishment for a collection of misfits with a musical yardstick already positioned at such an obtuse angle.

And on top of their typically bizarro style it's a concept album too: a four-act avant-rock opera of sorts, relating the enigmatic Pilgrim's Progress of a girl named Edweena, someone's Uncle Remus, and a porcupine named Knowledge (among other equally obscure characters). One of the reasons given for deliberately mothballing the finished tapes was because the narrative was "too personally revealing", according to the Residents' own web site: yet another example of their performance art leg-pulling. Nothing (repeat, nothing) about this thing is revealing, even with a lyric sheet, not available (so to speak) with the album itself, but easily accessible to motivated web spiders.

As for the music, it's "guaranteed to shake you up", as the pathetic narrator whimpers in "The Making of a Soul". Newcomers might not get past the oddness of it all, but listeners on the same aberrant wavelength will find the album a haunting, perplexing, perversely funny experience, striking a fine balance between the band's more sober avant-garde aspirations and the comic eccentricity favored by a lot of their fans.

Ideally I should have filed this review someplace where it couldn't be read until I had forgotten all about it. But, in the immortal words of the mysterious porcupine, "is firm corn merrier under gifts of less important love? We wonder..."

Meeting The Residents for the first time is like encountering a gang of party crashers pretending to be drunk. Here they are on their debut album: lampshades on their heads, stumbling through the front door while performing an inebriated demolition of the Nancy Sinatra hit "These Shoes Were Made For Walkin'", in a willful attempt to disrupt your composure, upset your guests, and trample all over every acceptable notion of musical propriety.

The performances are rudimentary, at best. The production is lower than lo-fi. And the instrumentation is so basic it looks almost silly: amateur horns, primitive electronics, clattering percussion, and a cheap acoustic piano salvaged from the dusty basement of a nearby social hall.

None of it is played very well, but even at this early stage of the group's evolution there's an obvious integrity to their weirdness...if in fact there ever was an actual group. Sometimes I think The Residents advance the illusion of being a quartet only because that's the standard arrangement of a traditional rock band, as seen in their cheerfully desecrated portrait of the Fab Four on the album's original front cover.

The genius is in the assembly, applying what FRANK ZAPPA would have called a rigorous conceptual continuity to an otherwise inscrutable hodgepodge of private jokes, outré insanity, and adenoidal nursery school caterwauling. Don't be surprised by the rare moment of melodic beauty, in the ghostly piano interlude of "Rest Aria" and elsewhere. But the album works best when the band keeps its collective avant-garde tongue firmly in cheek, for example in the mock-operatic vaudeville of "Spotted Pinto Bean".

Side Two (of the original vinyl) is less effective because it takes itself a little more seriously, never the best strategy for a group of iconoclastic nut cases. But even here you'll find a startling preview of their upcoming anti-Top-40 masterpiece "Third Reich 'n Roll", in a subversive deconstruction of the 1968 Human Beinz chestnut "Nobody But Me". After introducing it as a turntable sing-along, the first verse is quickly sidetracked into a looping mantra that worms its way under your skin and into your DNA: a classic moment of Residential satire.

Forty-plus years later the album is still remarkably strange. But it was hardly unique in 1973, sharing a common thread of cultural nonconformity with other, more renowned outsiders like Zappa, CAPTAIN BEEFHEART, and the Dada crusaders of FAUST. To the uninitiated this embryonic effort can sound (in a good way) like dirty fingernails scraped down a blackboard, almost literally in a song like "Skratz". But as The Residents themselves all but plead in the original liner notes, "Listen closely to the record. Let the strangeness wear off through a couple of plays. Soon you too will whistle the merry tunes..."

...Or else run screaming headlong into the nearest brick wall, they might have added. Either reaction is perfectly acceptable.

This is a minimalist music masterpiece.

The Residents were so ahead of their time with this album. The Commercial album has an excellent concept, great little stories, and music that can make you say: Hum, what is this thing ? This is creepy. That were my first reactions listening to this album. Sometimes, I would not sleep at night because I listened to some songs of the album before I went to bed. This is creepy. But I got over it. And I'm proud.

The most memorable tracks are: The ten first tracks. Easter Woman is a excellent way to start the album. Perfect Love has funny lyrics. Picnic Boy is classic. End of Home is more sad than the other tracks of the album because of it's lyrics. Amber has a great melody that gets stuck in your head. One of the most accesible tracks of the album. Japanese Watercolor is a great insrumental. Secrets is creepy but I think it is great track. Die in Terror is also creepy because it is so minimalistic. Red Rider has again a great melody. My Second Wife is funny. These tracks form like a mini suite.

Dimples and Toes is great because of it's uniqueness. It has great musical performances.

The Nameless Souls is the grooviest track of the bunch. It has a great Bassline and great songwriting.

Act of Being Polite is so classic. My second favorite.

The Simple Song is creepy but classic.

Give It to someone Else is great with it's minimalist performances but is also a classic

Phantom is a great instrumental.

Moisture is my favorite off the album. With great guitar performances,it could be popular if it was more known.

Troubled Man has a great melody but also the saddest lyrics of the bunch.

Loneliness could be anthemic if it was played by a big rock band. CLASSIC

Margaret Freeman is weird.

The Coming of the Crow is the hardest rocking track off the album.

When We Were Young is the most accesible track off this album. A great ending song.

Buy this album now in an old CD store. it will change your perception of music

Confusing grace with outer space: a Rock Opera from Mars

This is easily one of the strangest albums I've ever heard. It's hard to recall exactly what my initial feelings were when I first heard it, as a lot of the strangeness has sunk in and feels more natural now. But I do remember that I was taking an afternoon nap when I first put it on, and I remember that somehow the warped dream logic of this album made perfect sense when I was half asleep. It's the kind of "cool dream" that I'm always hoping to have - when I have the occasion to nap in the afternoon, I will often choose my music carefully, looking for something that might give me the same effect as this album did all those years ago.

The unique history of this album has already been covered in other reviews, but the important thing to remember is that this album was initially created with no intention of being released - not because it sucks (it doesn't), but because they wanted to see how it affected the process of creation.

The result is quite different from anything else the Residents have ever released. While their other early albums have a random, anarchic anything-anytime-anywhere feel to them, this album is strangely symphonic in nature - structured like a concept album/rock opera, with lengthy tracks featuring recurring characters and an ostensible story line. But the beauty of it is, it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Ugly noise suddenly gives way to touchingly beautiful music, challenging any ideas that these guys don't know what they're doing. Lyric lines of total random nonsense suddenly give way to a really emotionally resonant lyric that make you think that maybe there IS something going on here. Just when you think the whole project's gone off the musical deep end, it brings you back in with a reprise of an earlier musical theme (which you might have originally thought was just random noise the first time around) - all executed as if they accidentally came up with all this.

It's rarely pleasant to listen to, but the way this album walks a tightrope between total chaos and total order is really quite fascinating. There are four lengthy tracks followed by a brief instrumental epilogue, and the four lengthy tracks each go through several movements, establishing the occasional strong musical theme, bringing in spoken voices, dissonant group unison vocals, and the ridiculously-voiced "porcupine" character. Lots of cheap keyboards, pianos, clangy percussion, and tape effects, all servicing a total wack fest of a concept, and somehow making it sound Important.

Very close to a 5 here, but it's a little too rough around the edges (to put it mildly) to deserve "masterpiece" status.

I have a feeling that the Residents spent more time on this album than on any other album in their catalog up to that point. It really is an album that has to take its time sinking in, but once you fully get what's going on (I'm still not sure I do), it's pretty mind-blowing. It seems so far removed from their concurrent cheeky attempts at parody (e.g. the American Composers Series) that I get the impression that they spent the better part of a decade working on this, all the while releasing relatively half-hearted albums like "George and James".

The album seems to presage the latter-day Residents renaissance they've had of late, releasing elaborate, very emotional albums like "Demons Dance Alone" that are just as dark and serious as they are playful and strange. The "playful" part shows up right at the beginning, as a musical theme based on the old pop tune "Double Shot of My Baby's Love" (in fact, that's the recurring musical motif on the whole album) accompanies a chorus of women, who act throughout in a way similar to the "chorus" of Shakespearean plays - unseen by the main characters, but commenting on and reacting to the action. So what is the chorus on about here in the beginning? Well, they're just singing the opening credits. Brilliant!

After that, a series of deceptively simple musical pieces (all basically performed on keyboards and a drum machine) accompany an insanely convoluted spoken story, spoken in a warm Southern drawl (the lead singer's natural voice, it turns out). I won't begin to try to decipher the story (as if I could), but it plays out like a dream-sequence, with unnatural transitions, surreal imagery, and just some real heavy, at times bordering on violent, psycho-erotic sexual stuff. Roger Waters' "Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking" as seen through a kaleidoscope, in a way. AND! That's not all: the ENTIRE ALBUM is written and recited using a consistent meter and rhyme scheme - the whole thing is one big, crazy hour-long poem. Wow.

I can't call this a five star album, though, because as often happens with the Residents, the music doesn't always keep pace with the genius of the concept. However, this is still among the Residents' finest creations; the music, while staying out of the way most of the time, does react to the narrative in a way that indicates some thought was put into it. Even though it's just 80s keyboards with electronic drum sounds, it still "does the job" and ultimately works as an effective backdrop for the narration. The female chorus also interjects from time to time, adding a layer of humor to the proceedings. The rhythmic, poetic cadences of the narration adds to the "musical" side of the experience as well.

A strange, profound album that you won't soon forget. 4/5.

In a weird way, this is probably the funniest album in the Residents' catalog. While "Third Reich and Roll" may inspire some chuckles for the out-of-tune renditions of "Hey Jude" and the like, there's an underlying seriousness to that work that belies the insanity on the surface. Here, however, the Residents just sound like they're either totally joking or totally clueless.

This album's contribution to "The Mole Trilogy" (of which only the first part, Mark of the Mole, was really necessary) is the depiction of a fictional pop group called "The Big Bubble" that reflected the cross-cultural mix of the Moles and the Chubs. But oh, the music they make. Repetitive grunts, whines, growls, repeating the same lines over and over again, with musical accompaniment that sounds like one guy fooling around on a keyboard... this is what I like to play when I want to inflict pain on myself (even masochism has its place).

This album is just another of the (unfortunately) many examples of Residents albums that match a fairly neat concept with lazy, indifferent music. Contrast this with the superior "Mark of the Mole": the musical arrangements, textures, and complexity of the latter are nowhere to be found here. As a concept piece, this album is somewhat successful in its admitted goal of documenting a not-very-good fictional band. But you have to wonder why anyone would make an album like that. I'd still recommend this album for confirmed Residents fans, who might enjoy hearing this every once in a while, as I do from time to time, but others should probably stay away from this.

Mark of the Mole is among the Residents' most successful, emotionally potent, gimmick-free offerings. By this time, the Residents had completely embraced keyboards/synthesizers as a key instrument, but instead of using them for goofy bloops and bleeps (as they did on the couple of albums prior to this), they use them to create a dark purple sky of doom and despair. The result is not only a near-perfect sonic depiction of the concept's subject matter (the plight of the Moles and their eventual migration to the land of the Chubs, where they are persecuted), but also a musically engaging affair that works on its own even without the concept.

It begins with "Voices of the Air", kind of a prelude in the form of radio announcers announcing the coming storm that will eventually wipe out the Moles' homeland. It's kind of bright and catchy in a perverse way. "The Ultimate Disaster" follows, probably the highlight of the album - doomy chanted vocals underneath scary and jarring synth sounds. "Migration" and "Another Land" move the plot along, not quite as impressive musically, but not trivial either. Things really pick up again for the last segment, "A New Machine" and "Final Confrontation", which return to loud, almost industrial mechanical sounds and screaming washes of synth, with urgent vocals underneath, building to a terrifying climax.

This album signaled a new era for the Residents; through the rest of the 1980s they would further explore the concept-album-rendered-in-heavy-keyboards path, but this is the only album from that decade (barring the excellent "God in Three Persons") where you really feel like the Residents were putting a lot of care and attention into their music. Every doomy moment feels like it's on its way somewhere, carrying you forward through the story. One of the 5 best Residents albums, in my opinion.

Like a lot of the Residents' albums up to that point, Commercial Album posits itself as a unique experiment in form - with music itself as the subject for examination and comment. Just as "Third Reich and Roll" was a collage of deconstructed pop covers, this album takes a similar potshot at the institution of pop music. 40 songs, each exactly a minute long, illustrating somewhat cynically that they have boiled pop music down to its essence by removing the repetition. I'll give them one thing, it gives a reviewer an easy topic for an opening paragraph. How novel, right?

Trouble is, the songs mostly stink. If these songs resembled pop music in any form, their effect might be stronger. But essentially, each song consists of: a bland keyboard-based melody repeated a couple of times, one verse of lyrics, and maybe a brief outro. After a strong start ("Easter Woman"), things get awfully tedious by around track 10. There are isolated highlights -- Fred Frith with a cool guitar break in "Moisture", "Amber" has a good melody all around, "Simple Song" is knowingly moronic -- but overall this is a classic case of form over substance.

I love the Residents, particularly their first 10 years (1974-1984), but this is my least favorite album from that bunch. It seems to get a lot of praise -- it came out at a time when the Residents were possibly at the peak of their "hip" popularity -- but I maintain that 40 mediocre 1 minute songs do not equal 20 decent 2 minute songs.

It's always a case of 'pray as you enter' with the Residents.

The best thing about them in the 70's is that you'd no idea where they were going next. They were totally spontaneous and unpredictable from one album to the next.

'Eskimo' is a tough one to get into. There are no melodies at all, just whistling wind sounds, some percussion, occasional keyboards and loads of superstitious Eskimo vocals that sound like a toned down 'Several Picts Grooving...' from Floyd's 'Ummagumma'.

The liner notes really help though. In particular where we're told of 'spirits stealing children' which is accompanied by tiny wailings in falsetto voices. The sound of bursting walrus bladders is another part that made my hair stand on end.

'Eskimo' strides from 'Easy Listening' to 'Japanese torture' from track to track leaving me utterly bewildered like no other album in their entire catalogue.

There's lots of studio trickery involved in 'Eskimo' and it isn't as minimal as your ears would first believe. More importantly - (top) hats off to the Residents for this innovative and far reaching idea that no one had, or ever has attempted to investigate since.

Odd and intriguing and without bass or guitars. This is the only 70's Residents album that can be listened to in bed at night as you try to get to sleep. It'll give you queer nightmares though, where you eat triangles and hurdle jump bees, but it does flow very nicely in an atmospheric way. Borderline madness which is best listened to with a set of headphones on whilst reading the hefty booklet.