At one point during the weekend I’d come up with the perfect plan for this review: I’d begin by bashing on the keyboard with my elbows for roughly the length of a paragraph, letting some undecipherable nonsense splurge forth, then begin the next by saying: “And that’s how much sense Pere Ubu’s show made to me on Saturday night.”
But that wouldn’t have been entirely fair. I did have a vague idea of what the grizzled experimental rockers were up to, not least since I’d beforehand interviewed the band’s David Thomas, who had talked intriguingly about this attempt to adapt the 19th century proto-Absurdist stage play Ubu Roi to which they owe their name.
Beyond that I was pretty stumped, and in particular spent the first half wondering whether somebody had slipped something in my drink - or indeed whether it had been unknowingly replaced by an entire cocktail of concoctions. However, by the time the “financial horse” was galloping about the middle of the stage - who I think was the keyboardist in an equine mask - I’d decided to abandon all hope of making any sense of proceedings, instead enjoying as much as possible the farce taking place onstage.
Which definitely seemed like the best option when you realised that even Pere Ubu weren’t too sure of where they were at on occasion, with Thomas shouting at the person responsible for forgetting to set off the vital toilet flush sound effect (which then got enough applause it was played twice), and also memorably berating and cussing the drummer for failing to respond on queue. It was then established that it was actually the singer who had unwittingly jumped forward to the wrong scene, necessitating a hasty and hilarious rewind. In the first half he was swigging from a hip flask, in the second an entire bottle. It was all part of the act, I think, but if not I think the audience would have understood.
Thomas was the star of the show, playing Père Ubu plus his wife and some other helium-voiced character. Well, that was about as much as I could make out; apart from Père being delivered with a distinctive growl I couldn't make out too much of a demarcation of who was who. The animated element on the video screen didn’t help, as for most of the show it was simply showing what act and scene we were in. (Sometimes as much for the benefit of the band as for anyone else, though even then Thomas signalled the operator to move it forward, before realising it was, er, him who was in the wrong place.)
Taking place in two halfs and constructed something like a radio play setting - the band positioned around the screen and all taking on various vocal parts - it felt a bit like an am-dram performance involving a bunch of acid casualties who’d only just been roused from a semi-successful cryogenic freezing process. The hammy performances were delivered with cartoon-character subtlety, as though they’d been furnished with the Loony Tunes back catalogue for reference, and there were few actual songs. Even then, the ditties mainly felt like the band warming up for an actual show. Proceedings were otherwise backed by a slew of creepy synth sounds which were deployed pretty effectively.
As somebody who’d never seen Pere Ubu before I wondered what a more-straightforward gig of theirs would have been like, and whether I’d even want to attend, as by the end of the night’s loosely termed entertainment there was actually something quite glorious about this unique performance - if Ed Wood had ever have had the chance put on a touring show, this oddly equipped outfit would surely have been his backing band. I’d put this in the “so bad it’s good” category, except that I’m still unsure what on earth to make of it all. I might indeed just bang my elbows on the keyboard instead until I actually can figure out my feelings on the whole (arguably glorious) fiasco.
