Rolling on the River of Crime
As legend has it, around 1970 a SF-based experimental-art collective recorded a demo of their bizarre, sometimes abrasive music and mailed it off to Warner Brothers. In accordance with their philosophy, very little information was included with the tape. No names, no photos.
Since no names had been given, when the tape was returned a few weeks later it was addressed simply to "Residents." So while they may not have gotten a record contract out of it, they did at least get a name for their band.
Over the next 35-plus years, The Residents have continued experimenting, becoming anonymous, eyeball-headed, avant-garde legends, producing music, art and films on their own terms: They released some 40 albums, were inducted into MoMA, turned CD-ROM and DVD into art forms, and their rare live performances were like nothing you've ever seen.
Over those same years the major record labels remained determinedly stagnant, foisting a lot of crap on the world. Eventually consumers stopped caring.
But history's a funny beast. Not only is it cyclical, but sometimes when it swings back around, the forces have shifted a little. Recently, the major labels finally recognized that people were listening to music in a different way-often without the labels' intervention. So slowly, reluctantly, they began offering music online.
When Warner took the leap last year, they found The Residents-who'd always been five steps ahead, technology-wise-waiting for them. And last November, Warners' new digital wing, Cordless, finally offered The Residents that contract.
But instead of simply posting a bunch of three-minute songs, on June 13 they released the premiere episode of The River of Crime, possibly the world's first serialized musical, radio-drama podcast, with new episodes appearing every two weeks. Think of it as a post-postmodern Mercury Theater, hosted by a shadowy, nameless Orson Welles.
"Radio drama" may not be the right word, given there are no radios involved-but it expresses the idea. Like the radio dramas of the 1930s and '40s, The River of Crime uses multiple actors, sound effects and music to tell a cryptic tale which stretches over a planned 20 episodes.
Each episode plays out on several levels. There's the narrator recounting his story in the present, actors and sound effects recreating the story and a historical incident (like the Rosenberg execution) providing a thematic base. There's also the music, which remains unmistakably Residential while hearkening back to the dark jazz of film noir, and a Greek Chorus commenting on the goings-on.
It's an awful lot to cram into each 15-minute episode, yet all the parts mesh beautifully, almost operatically. Some of the individual episodes are more compelling than others, granted.
The question is, in this zip-bang world, will people listen to a structurally complex drama that'll demand their attention and imagination for 15 minutes? Beyond simple imagination, even, River of Crime requires some thinking. Some connections are left intentionally obscure, as is often the case with The Residents' work. But The Residents have always given their listeners a little more credit than most, and River of Crime is a heckuva ride-at turns darkly funny and sad, creepy and nasty. At others it's downright disturbing.
Never thought I'd say it, but here's to Warner for having the balls to take the chance, and for finally recognizing where they should go to get the job done right.
River of Crime subscription packages available at Virgin, the MoMA store and through the Cordless website.