Search - Residents :: Freak Show

Jawburning

Jonas G. Golland | Santa Rosa CA | 10/28/2005

(5 out of 5 stars)

"The Residents are no one special. They are just a group of people who stretch themselves to experiences we can't explain and love to share. How do they dissolve into these? Are they method actors? Did they live with Innuits in the late 70's? We won't ever know, and it gives me goosebumps.



[But they give special gifts. One knows how there is a certain joy to simply living life without any pressures of expectations. In life we eventually find freedom when we don't have to explain, we just have to know it and our nurtured gifts give. These men have maintained the club dedicated to the undisturbed creative state, but push it outward strongly, as well as providing music therapy for taking ourselves too seriously.]



Freak Show, first released in 1990, put maybe the most artificial face and hands on this humanitarian band. Contorterrated, even threatening, it opens wounds of those that want to stay open, desperate to be watched as a 3 year-old alone on the Moon would. Yes there are rich stories and yes, these characters are intensified by their own obliterated dreams, while the music is all theirs, just another way for the Residents in the Freak Show realm, that never again will be...



Writing about this band is not fair because the music gives the gift of its tactile inception, a quality quicker than thought. I think I can say for others that this album takes time to grow on one. It feels frantically rushed, like forcing bodily functions or forcing someone else to do things slightly undesired...



This darkly epic album uses many effects, free-form scales and crookedly inappropriate gloriousness. It is more alive with immediacy than Have a Bad Day (1996), the other more innocent though treacherous journey into carnival, which is more contemplative. Rock from the Moles is probably right that Freak Show stands alone stronger as music without the CD-Rom goodies, but you'll just have to read my review...



A lot of galvanized instruments were used. But Residents have a way of making acoustic sound electronic, and sometimes vice versa. By being observers they are also audience to what is happening, making us better observers. So it's best to forget that Mickey the Mumbling Midget `sounds largely as a programmed opus,' and forget it because you're not going to get out of this album alive or with dry ears. You're going to smell like the rinsewater for Lillie's false teeth.



Or you might actually need a straight drink. The albums rushed quality makes a lot of sense since I was patient. From the startling, peacocking orchestral jolt that opens to the loud run of the dragged-outro theme to the slam of big doors, it could make you cry for the shame it provokes/reveals: `Nobody laughs when they leave', they just need to GET OUT. I am more enlightened on freak shows as a result, I can smell them; the murkiness of this album. How can melody do those stenchy things as well? I didn't know. Some songs crunch, some are slippery, and some even more clumsy like Benny the Bouncing Bump. The songs epically coincide, somehow with room for each other, demanding attention as soon as they're on.



I can't be at ease as I write of the way that Benny hurriedly jumps to `I NEED SOMEONE TO WRESTLE WITH'; that desperate action is making me uneasy. It's music like this that plays so sincerely on the pure entertainment value of Benny as a pathetic crowd pleaser, but then makes you see the boy, the man, like you haven't imagined. I'll leave the rest of Benny to you.



Meet Jello Jack the Boneless Boy, curiously favoured and revisited in later years. He has a meek pride of sliding into the room. Seeing him is like looking into a mirror because he has no protective layers left (not that he's well polished). He'll tell you his story, just of his usual day and ideas because he can't remember much more [I suspect]. (Is he my permanent mind from too many psycho-actives? Is he actually a living thing that the Residents met? I'm scared.) It's slippery music in that Jello Jack but not quite slimy. His quality is from the beginning of slippery, slow and gradual, to the thinnest water whisking you out to space, with no discrimination or sense of time between the two. But Jack will explain in his own way, and what's important.



Every time I hear those opening, peacocking orchestral hits, I hear the rests after these spread-out notes as if one is waiting for my reaction, and I always picture an eyeballed figure with angel wings, another form of the one on the cover, digitally twirling round in the dark before me, with nothing else in this blackness but abundant, glittering traces...



The overture begins and I'm in the sticky world of the circus or other fairground romp. Before the theme tune there is a montage of competing amusements coming at me in my oblique state, and I can't tell if the foreboding, pre-action scene score is due to my threatened steadiness or for the freak show members, hoping for every reason that more customers will come. I think again, and realize how cheap the heckler is advertising these freaks at, and how many ordinary folks must be on their way in to snicker or get permission to laugh. But I'm not sure.



Try noticing how long it will take you to really listen to the lyrics (+ narratives), because before and after you do it is possible to have a jawburning experience with this album. There is much more worth saying than I could because it is simply staggeringly focused work. The poetry in the final track will hold you for as long as you want to see beauty in this mess. And `Life is a lot like a freak show. Because...' I recommend this album for every reason.

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