Guignol - Angela, David & the Great Neopolitan Road Issue
(Cenotaph)
Taking their name, presumably, from the turn of the century Parisian theatre group, Le Grand Guignol (the infamous "theatre of fear and terror"), this is clearly the work of the deranged arm of the Volcano The Bear troupe. Mel Gordon's description of Le Grand Guignol and their irreverent presentations might be a cause for trepidation (or celebration, depending on your want) on approaching this release:
At one performance, six people passed out when an actress, whose eyeball was just gouged out, re-entered the stage, revealing a gooey, blood-encrusted hole in her skull. Backstage, the actors themselves calculated their success according to the evening's faintings. During one play that ended with a realistic blood transfusion, a record was set: fifteen playgoers had lost consciousness. Between sketches, the cobble-stoned alley outside the theatre was frequented by hyperventilating couples and vomiting individuals.
Nice. With our "sans Grand" Guignol, the CD's cover artwork and title hint at its eccentricity; a bright yellow background with semi-grotesque cartoon figures boating out of perspective on what appears to be a Venetian canal. Right country, but what are Angela and David doing in Naples? Ah, there are no roads in Venice, of course.
Turning (at last) to the (anti-)musical content, witness tracks 4 and 5, being a verbatim repetition of a lyric of piquant nonsense with identical "tune" and backing. Or "nore Scene," which is, of course, a recording of someone snoring. While this may suggest a release of English Victorian eccentricity in the vein of "Bonzo Dog," for example, Guignol rescue themselves from this particular abyss by using some wonderfully inventive and complex musical arrangements (and lyrics) which veer towards the evocative as well as the insane. "Invisible Sports" and "The Fly Machine Passes" are both excellent examples of intricate and delicate compositions, which reward the dedicated listener over time. However, it is arguable that the most appealing aspect of the 13-minute "A Gourd Question" is the pun in the title.
Not as immediately engaging as the Daniel Padden solo CDs, perhaps, but marvelous and fascinating stuff nonetheless.
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