NOT AVAILABLE
UNCLE WILLIE'S HIGHLY OPINIONATED GUIDE TO THE RESIDENTS
This, the second album recorded by the Residents, is
perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful of all their albums.
Its was bounded by the “Theory of Obscurity” and “could
only be released when the creators themselves had
completely forgotten about its existence.”
For whatever reasons, the album was eventually released
four years later. Some have complained that this release
was blasphemous and that the theory should have been
respected. Let me assure you that no crime was committed.
The lyrics are heavily veiled in an acoustic and linguistic
gauze. Sometimes there is rhyme, and sometimes there is
reason. There are times at which we catch glimpses of these
lyrics through the veil, however their meaning tends to
speak more directly to the soul, and for the most part are
not available to the analytical mind. When listening to
this album, one realizes that its obscurity remains fully
intact.
The music is full of many rich and varied themes. Its
juxtaposition of the sad, the beautiful, and the unusual,
creates deep emotional currents that with proper navigation
will lead you to interesting places. There is an innocence
about this album that lays aside all pretense and bears
open their soul.
We hear a hypnotic mesh of percussion, strings, horns, and
voices. We find ourselves carried upon waves of
unfamiliarity which lead us to seductive places where
female voices and pianos sweetly wonder about the blooming
of posies. There are also places of loneliness as felt in
these words:
The sentence existing
inside of a rhyme,
is only just a
token
left spoken in time.
In “The Making of a Soul” there exists a most beautiful and
delicately played piano passage. It sounds as though they
were playing on their grandmother’s seldom used piano in
the basement while she was away. Later, lamenting strings
join in with the piano, and a peculiar person shows up with
some questions that are guaranteed to shake you up.
We make our way through the turbulent “Ship’s A’Going
Down”, spiraling ever downward, descending into the
whimpering depths from which there appears to be no return,
until at last we find ourselves with “Never Known
Questions”. A lush resting place.
When you look into the emotions contained in the music on
this album, they speak clearly, and there is no question of
obscurity. This album is simultaneously sad, happy, and
beautiful. Particularly as found in its climactic
conclusion. Grandma’s sad and innocent piano reappears and
after a valiant attempt at trying to communicate the
passage of calling cards and winking bards and falling
guards, there is a certain feeling of resignation as we
find ourselves, along with The Residents, throwing up our
hands and saying “OK”.
An angelic farewell march fades in and takes over while the
singing continues in time with the new music. “OK, OK”.
There is a sense of finality and acceptance. As the march
continues to play, another refrain emerges.
To exist to show,
or to be shown?
Is a question
never,
never known.
As the music slowly fades out, so do the lyrics. They leave
us, receding faintly, with the words “to exist ... to
exist”. The music is sad because it is time to say
farewell, as we all must do someday. It is happy, for
having had the chance to exist. And it is beautiful,
because it is.
- David Willenbrink