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The madness of the road and the din of the gig or vice versa if you prefer, the postmodern psyche reflects it all as a multimedia smorgasbord. "Let's ask him: What's the deal?" Centerville, a redneck dive in a Pinewood sound-stage (spotting Kubrick's monolith is but one of the games), just the pit-stop for The Mothers of Invention at their balmiest. Flo and Eddie plus dancing lizards, the magic lamp of inspiration bestows Jimmy Carl Black's "Lonesome Cowboy Burt" showstopper, Theodore Bikel as Sig Ruman as Satan is out of A Night at the Opera. (This goes one step further and gets the actual Royal Philharmonic for "The Penis Dimension.") "Wanna watch a dental hygiene movie?" Frank Zappa in a language all of his own, busy at the video monitor with smeary filters and solarizations and superimpositions, giving plenty of ideas to Godard (Numéro Deux) and Tati (Parade). The free-form onslaught dilates from Rafaelson's Head as a visualization of the band's multiple sonic layers and kaleidoscopic dissonance, blessed by the Hot Nun (Keith Moon) at the harp. Beer and cheeseburgers fuel freakouts at the Rancid Boutique and the Fake Nightclub, "several subjective realities" coincide for jibes at Disney ducks and odes to groupies. Rigorous experiments masked as puerile doodling, a certain Richter strain (Vormittagsspuk), death of Dalí and birth of Tom Green. Ahead of Syberberg, Zappa as blow-up doll, Ringo Starr suspended by wires, cartoon cutout with chattering teeth, clearly seen at last conducting the cacophony. "I like to be a monster once in a while." The resulting migraine is an intentional effect.
--- Fernando F. Croce |