The album that put The Residents on the collective map…
** Side One: Swastikas on Parade
** Side Two: Hitler Was A Vegetarian
Noted psychoanalyst Erik Erikson professed that humans go through eight stages of psychosocial development in their lifetime; the most significant stages, obviously, being the earliest. According to Erikson, all early stages were meant to prepare the human for stage seven: Middle Adulthood (35-55).
When I was near ten years old, my Uncle Larry (AKA: Donald to you) felt it time to introduce a ‘proper music education’ to his sheltered nephew. In his infinite wisdom, the first album he ever played for me was the Residents’ Third Reich ‘n’ Roll. Within minutes, I became so disturbed that I began to cry. His reaction, at least initially, was to turn up the volume and laugh at me.
Being ten years older than myself, I have no doubt that the end result that day was exactly what he intended. Teenagers, after all, have cruel streaks in them. Had he known that his act of sonic terrorism would set me on a bohemian-laced, avant gardening path, he probably would have been twice as pleased with himself.
We all could use an Uncle Larry in our lives.
The Residents mythology is a complex one. The group and their hardcore fans steadfastly maintain a pro wrestling like gimmick of complete anonymity; 50+ years into their careers and people still pretend to debate the Residents’ identities. Whatever. They can try to pull the wool over my eyes, but I’ve never fallen for it.
The Residents were an art collective made up of a group of friends sometime around 1969. These friends, primarily consisting of Homer Flynn, Hardy Fox, Jay Clem, and John Kennedy, were acid drenched fans of the avant-garde. And Captain Beefheart. And Sun Ra. And Harry Partch. And all of the true psychedelics of the world.
The Grateful Dead? Pfft. They, like just about every big name psychedelic band you can think of, tiptoed around the avant-garde, pussyfooted the ‘Out There, Man’ act, then became a county and western band to a bunch of Dead Heads.
Through sheer creativity and gumption, this art collective would end up producing some of the more powerful, interesting, and subversive material of the 1970s. Not bad for a bunch of hicks that couldn’t even play their instruments when they began recording in 1970.
After being largely ignored by the music press, 1976’s ‘The Third Reich ‘n’ Roll’ album and the companion cover of the Stones’ ‘Satisfaction’ single released that same year would make a splash. For a year or two, the ‘band’ (though they never really were a band) became darlings of the hipster press; right up through 1979’s Eskimo album, the Residents could do no wrong.
In 1982, the ‘art collective’ officially became a duo. After a severe financial crisis brought about by the ill-fated Mole Show tour, Clem and Kennedy abandoned the Residents to Flynn (the singer, lyricist, and principle visual designer), Fox (the composer), and anyone that would collaborate with them.
Despite the fact that sparks of genius have been produced ever since, many early fans will suggest that the Residents began to parody themselves the minute Clem left. While the mythology and respect for them runs deep, I am not one to argue that particular sentiment.