Years ago, when the teeth were as white as teeth and puppets spat ether into fires, a strange occurrence happened in the heart of Louisiana. Several children were born, children who would grow up knowing the comforts of self-imposed obscurity and the charms of wearing eyeballs over their heads (one would choose a skull) in order to hide their identities. From a religious education that would appear in many of their later recordings, either subtly or not so subtly (like God in Three Parts), they took their bizarre philosophy from the intense dislike of anything popular. Pop music was sarcastically “covered” by their eventual band. Religion would help them to avoid outright cruelty towards artists that produced music for the sole purpose of turning a profit. Also their albums that spoke of God or a God-like figure stayed respectful of His importance.
Louisiana did not offer this strange band an environment proper for their oddity. Only in California could they find a place that welcomed such unusual characters. Their first album was sent to Warner Brothers, and when it returned with the words “send back to the residents”, they had found their name. Over two decades would pass before their debut album would be released through their Ralph record label. Ralph records introduced the world to the Residents through their first release “Meet the Residents” which had the old “Meet the Beatles” album cover totally wrecked. Fifty of the Residents records were sold before they were faced with legal action from a label with actual financial resources.
I could begin to describe their first album, but this review is about their second, which is better musically and theoretically. The album’s title “Not Available” should clue the listener in to what sort of eccentric characters the Residents are. It was their third release but second album they recorded. Officially the debut’s late release was attributed to a discussion with a German philosopher about how nothing should exist until it has been completely forgotten. How much of this story is true cannot be properly checked, since these musicians basically are total pranksters and have a distorted sense of reality. Artists such as the Residents release much material but rarely have concerts; they live in obscurity on the fringes of most music scenes like plunder phonics and avant-rock. Staying safely inside their costumes, there remains no need for explanation or taking their music at face value. Rather, the listener should just relax and already enjoy esoteric music before delving into this bizarre universe.
Immediately the album begins with “Edweena” and a cymbal crash. After the crash you are treated to a somewhat surreal creation of cruise music, made with the help of natural horns and synth violin chords. The synth sounds permeate most of the album, and they are those of the analog sort (since it was all created in the 1970s, if you can’t handle the synth sound, just turn it off because its presence is felt all over the album). An odd chant comes in with their electronically altered voices providing rhythm. Piano chords intermingle with the synth, and a woman’s voice, quite pretty, offers almost some connection to reality. Drums and their chants suddenly come to the forefront, with all else dropping out for no good reason. Eventually even the drums leave, bringing us face to face with the obtuse lyrics that weave a bizarre story which the whole album is based upon. Knowing what the story is about is not important, besides its actual point is obscured by so many subtle references that it would take far more time than your average human being would dedicate.
“The Making of a Soul”, the second song, is even longer. It continues with the theme of traveling music mixed in with odd chants. These first two songs comprise over half of the album’s running time and eventually this song breaks up in a different, much less expected (in case somebody thought the first one was predictable) fashion. This sounds much more dramatic statement than the first song, which felt like that of a polite introduction. Eventually there’s a dropout of the tortured horn which becomes another chant that dies to begin a strange speech that seems a bit self-aware at times. “But fantasy moves ahead/For the Iceman just took a turn for the better”. When they realize their own oddity, they seem to confirm it with such a weird statement.
Finally, the last three songs of “Ship’s A’going down”, “Never Known Questions” and “Epilogue” all resolve the tension set up by the first two songs. “Ship’s A’going down” is probably the most abrupt of the collection found. Screaming, hollowed out spaces, and the cut in between this calm and hysteria is particularly fascinating. The two speakers have a conversion where the calm quiets down the screaming, confused individual.
“Never Known Questions” is the resolution and triumph of these characters. They seem to have built up to the happy conclusion of all the problems which made them so hysterical. Their journey to a place that initially offered so much anger and frustration made them depressed, until they realized the good that could come from it. An evolution into what sounds like parade music makes this apparent to the listener. “Epilogue” looks back on all that has happened, the equivalent of a condensed version of the main ideas.
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