WIN a Pair of tickets to see THE RESIDENTS in SEATTLE [March 18th]!!!
CONTEST HAS ENDED!
This contest went really fucking well, so thanks to everyone that entered. The fact that the entries were so good also means that picking a winner was a pain in the ass. I personally narrowed it down pretty quick, but then had to get a group of people to help pick the winner again. It’s the only way to keep things fair and… quite honestly, it was the only way to figure it out at all. A lot of the time there is an obvious winner, but, this time, people really went all out. It was probably the most difficult decision yet. Now, to announce the winner…..
WILLIAM REEVES!
…who edged his way through with the following sentence: “It matters not that the police drag us away, and our home, this once-beloved apartment, is barred from us… we have found our true homes, behind the eyes of those precious children, who will re-write tomorrow with their Fiery Blood!”
thanks again to everyone who entered.
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[Scroll ahead to the bottom for contest entry details/rules]
At this point, The Residents have been been around for a long ass time. Way before bands like Black Dice and Animal Collective were experimenting with avant-garde Noise Rock, these Bay Area mansterminds were laying the groundwork. Later they ventured off into such polarizing territories as haunting Leonard Cohen-esque croons and everywhere in between, throughout their extensive careers. Although they tentatively formed in the SIXTIES, creating a few “unreleased” albums, the group themselves don’t fully acknowledge anything as an “official” Residents project until the release of their Santa Dog EP in 1972. Since then, they have created an impressive output of over 60 different albums, film scores, numerous multi-media projects, constant reinventions, and have left endless influences and failed imitators in their wake. Retaining their anonymity for over 4 decades and with a consistent refusal to ever be interviewed, speculation, confusion, fascination, and intrigue have surrounded the group ever since their inception. As history goes, the name “The Residents” was actually adopted after the group submitted a reel-to-reel tape (later known as “The Warner Bros. Album”) to Warner Bros. Records and, due to the fact that no name was listed onfor the return address, the rejection letter that was sent back to them was simply addressed to “the residents“. By taking the focus off of the individual members’ need for recognition and egos, The Residents have always sought to place the attention back where it belongs: on the work, itself. The duality to this framework lies in the fact that The Residents are an extremely visual-oriented art collective; their most recognizable imagery being their trademark eyeball heads with tuxedo and top-hat aesthetic. Much more than a simple musical outfit, they are an assemblage of innovators, performance artists, and multi-media experimenters, constantly pushing themselves and searching for new and exciting ways to share their latest visions.
Phase after phase, The Residents re-examine, augment, and fortify their legacy. The Seventies were a time of development and a prolific recording output for the guys. While the album production didn’t slow down in the 1980s, that second decade is when their visual and live performance elements really began to take flight and come together. Taking the stage in their eyeball ensembles for the first time, 1981 gave birth to the Mole Trilogy shows, which featured Pen Jillette, of Penn and Teller fame, playing the part of a live tangential narrator. As the decade progressed, more and more visual elements were included to enhance the over-the-top live performances. More themes were created, as well, with their 3-act “CUBE E” performances (presenting their interpretation of the history of American music) and their Wormwood performances (based on Bible stories and featuring both live and pre-recorded music). The Ninteties were a decade of multi-media technology obsessions for the crew, finding them directing their attention to such areas as CD-Roms, heavy usage on midi effects, and even the release of a comic book. From there they attempted to move back into a more band-oriented and less robotic sound, eventually performing a tour of retrospective material, encompassing elements from everything that they had created up until that point. More and more albums came, a youtube related project, a musical theater adaptation of an E.T.A. Hoffman short story, DVDs, and a hearty attention was placed back on story development for their live shows. After the red model of the 4 eyeball helmets was stolen in the 80s (later returned), a skull helmet replaced the lifted/”unlean” headwear semi-permanently, while the other 3 eyeball heads remained. However, for The Residents‘ most recent “Talking Light” tour (2010) the group (now a trio) featured a front man sporting an old-man mask with the other 2 members rocking some sort of Foot Clan-style fiber-optic dreadlock head coverings. One particular stop for The Residents and their Talking Light tour was as part of the Matt Groening-curated All Tomorrows Parties festivities last year in Minehead, England.
Thanks to the invention of the internet, gaining attention as a musician is easier now than ever, but it can also be a hell of a lot less profitable. Acts are being forced to turn to live shows as a means of income and, quite frankly, a good percentage of these fools should have just left their asses in the studio. The Residents, on the other hand, have been focusing on the overall entertainment package for over 40 years. If you’re gonna throw down some loot, you might as well do it on a show where you know that you are gonna see something unique… something that you know will provide a memorable experience and a spectacle.
According to the site, Altered Zone’s, here’s a synopsis of what to expect from their current tour:
“The group, going by the names Randy, Chuck, and Bob, will be performing pieces from Randy’s Ghost Stories, a collection of 8 compositions released last year on DVD. Each performance will have three pieces, the first about the story of a mysterious skeleton baby in a remote desert cottage, the last with another story involving a woman and her invisible twin sister, and the second changing each show.”
Ok… now that we’ve presented our case as to why a show by The Residents would be entirely worth your hard earned cash, we’re just gonna turn around and offer you an opportunity to get your hands on a pair of tickets for free, anyway.
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THE CONTEST / GIVEAWAY:
*One winner will receive a pair of tickets to catch The Residents show at
Neumos Crystal Ball Reading Room in Seattle on March 18th.
HOW TO ENTER:
Playing off of the name “The Residents” (not to mention our current obsession with Charlie Sheen interview footage) we’ve decided to focus this particular contest on evictions and wingnut antics.
#1)
Come up with the most wacked-out, calculated, sketchball, elaborate, deviant, debaucherous, fucked up,destructive, morally reprehensible, and/or creative way that someone could go about getting themselves evicted from their residence.
#2)
Post your answer in the comment section below.
#3)
There is no part 3. That’s all there is to the contest. It’s pretty easy… but you should probably read the fine print.
The Fine Print:
All entries must be received by Tuesday the 15th at 11:59 pm to be eligible.
You can enter as many times as you want but, use a valid email so that we can contact you.
If we are unable to contact the winner in a reasonable amount of time, a new winner will be chosen.
[If you have any intentions to post comments asking us to pick you, or asking when the winner will be announced… how about, just don’t do it? It’s pretty fucking obnoxious and it won’t help your chances.]
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjYPbnC6GLk[/youtube]
To force me own eviction I will need to put a speaker in every window.
On a cheery sunday morning I will invite my landlord over for tea.
Against their will they will be required to act out all of the scenarios from the film “the aristocrats”
“If you can abort it, you can rape it.”
just play residents albums really really really loud until it peels the paint off the walls or someone calls the cops
I would make a video of me rubbing my junk up against everything in my apartment (walls, appliances, fixtures, etc.) while moaning my landlord’s name, and then post it to their facebook wall.
Decoupage all exterior walls with goatse.cx, all interior walls with tubgirl, and have a bathroom shrine to Toddlers and Tiaras. Stereo is on 11 and only plays Anal Cunt’s “Picnic of Love,” New Edition’s “Candy Girl,” and Agoraphobic Nosebleed’s “Frozen Corpse Stuffed with Dope.”
Play Danzig and Tool really loud, all the time. Lots and lots of feral cats… and free booze for winos…
After refusing to pay the rent for months & filing charges against the landlord for having leaking plumbing, that I intentionally destroyed. I would order trial subscriptions to as many smut rags as I could, in the landlord’s name & address. Outside in the yard, I would have a mock re-enactment of the Cremation of Care, replete with a great big guy dressed in gold lame’ tights singing a hip hop version of the hamadryad’s Song, and a burning effigy of Elvis’ twin, in dreadlocks. I would paint the outside of the windows to look like church windows on bad acid, in Warhol colors, topped off with a little fake blood splattered all over the place. I would paint the interior black. I would then accent the entire place with phosphorescent paint. I would melt 100s of candles into the carpet & woodwork in arcane rituals to Nin-Kasi, Mesopotamian Goddess of beer. For the last few days, I would adopt as many cats with renal trouble as I could find. I would order all kinds of obscure religious idols, COD in the landlord’s name, and some samples of porn sent to his wife’s place of work. I would hire a roofer to instal new gutters in a couple of weeks. There may be a little fiberglass in the plumbing, but it would need to have some steel wool mixed in if it were to be… I would epoxy all the drawers, doors, windows and toilets closed. If I could catch a few rabbits, I would put them into the air ducts with enough produce to live for a month. Before I left, I would set up a stereo with big 1970s speakers, & put on the “Best Cop Show Themes of All Time”, featuring Al Hurt and turn it up as loud as it will go & set it to play infinite repeats… Oh! i can’t forget to order some Chinese take-out & a few pizzas, in the landlord’s name on the way out…
I’ll play the album Eskimo at full volume until I get kicked out. It doesn’t stop until I’m evicted or the power is shut off…and then i will begin again.
How to get evicted: Smear the interior with feces. (Dilute with water for easy spreading). Fuck the landlord’s wife in the meth lab while filming and live-streaming it to a screen in front of the apartment building. Then, of course, set the dump on fire.
How about closing every window, door, sealing every keyhole or opening with wet towels, eating beans prior to it all, and then farting so much the methane would fill the whole house, being lighter than air it would fly the house to some other soil and since that property would not me owned by me I would get evicted after the nice journey? Of course, as everyone knows, only the producer of one’s own fart can stand spending time breathing it, so it would ensure that I was the actual and only person who farted and traveled in the house…
First I would start by putting The Third Reich & Roll on repeat, as loud as my stereo will let me. I would then open all the curtains and windows to the world, and invite over a bus load of clowns and bickers. We would all then strip down to nothing but our biker vest and frilly neck things with the squirting flower attached, and begin to masturbate and fornicate. So much noise has never been heard even from the raunchiest of barn yard orgies. Eventually the fun would spill out onto the lawn. Which is when the boys choir would show up with cats in hand. They would pull their creatures tails, and howl along to the music of their living instruments and the orgy still in progress.
Tiger blood paint applied throughout my unit, as well as the lobby and halls. First, must remove from hinges all doos to speed up drying of paint. Also hire porn stars with blow dryers to paint drying. Truck in enough white sand to give the whole place a gnarly beachy feel. Fake palm trees, bbq grills (have godesses in charge of this) Winning! “Pass the Dutchie” playing at 95 decibels on endless loop. Laundy room converted to home theater for Chalie Sheen film festival. Each dryer has a different flavor of popcorn in it; the washers are filled with ice for drinks. Tops of machines tables throughout are all mirrors. Just close my eyes, and I will it so. Duh, winning!
I begin by ordering my followers to let go of their crippling social bounds by doing three simple things: refusing to wear anything but galoshes, a diapers and a lobster bib; speaking only in the intuitive gestures of the Holy Spirit’s secret sign language, as it comes to them, or in the form of shouted commands; and wearing an ointment of rancid fish oil, easily attained from any health-market, and then a good long basking of the bottle in the warmth of the sun for many days. The all-night chanting sessions of “Natter, Natter, Grommech, Grommech” are not only protected freedom of religious practice, but they are nothing less than the self-evident essential light of the world. Any complaints from the management must be met with emergency messages, warning them of the dark forces in the world, and within themselves, that may rise up to destroy them if they oppose this obvious needful and good thing we do. When the police visit, we will be polite, we always are. We will take all of their advice, try to explain the misunderstandings in terms they will be comforted by, then send them off with promises of good behavior—after all, they cannot help it if the forces of True Evil have reduced their minds to those of children. We pity them, but we do not pretend they can understand. While some may call it animal sacrifice and even unsanitary, the home slaughter of rabbits for cooking is not strictly prohibited, and their cleansing blood will come out of the rugs and walls; we promise to clean up after ourselves when the cleansing effects of the blood have run their course, with the lunar cycles. Finally, when we have grown enough in power, we begin shedding the last of our bounds; some will sacrifice themselves, that day, to add their blood to the walls. Others will become the ‘Gates of the Eternity,’ by taking a cocktail of every street drug they can collect, in a slowly escalating doses, and speaking freely as their released minds allow. Some will orgy, and some will scream out sacred truths, like “Lightning is the Semen of God! My Flesh is pure Lightning!” and “See the Metaphor Unmasked?! Well, do you, fucker?! See it!?” And their voices will raise the consciousness of every being they reach, throughout the neighborhood. And then, there are the Path Finders, who will collect such children from near-by who can be enticed with the offer of a few dollars helping an old woman… when they get to the building, they will be brought in to ‘see what all the fuss is about,’ and in the sacred space, they will witness the Truth Unfolding, and their minds will be seeded with the Light Everlasting. It matters not that the police drag us away, and our home, this once-beloved apartment, is barred from us… we have found our true homes, behind the eyes of those precious children, who will re-write tomorrow with their Fiery Blood!
just burn the fucking place down.
The most annoying eviction worthy plan would involve Pat Boone, Christmas lights in July with carolers chiming at all hours. At 5 a.m. and every hour on the hour I would knock on my neighbor’s doors and ask them a) if they have accepted Jesus as their savior, b) interested in receiving literature from the Church of Latter Day Saints, c) ask them if they saw my lost pythons.
I would then ask the aforementioned Mr. Boone to canvas the neighbors on my behalf, with his daughter Debbie Boone signing “You light up my Life” and asking for donations to pay my rent.
Charlie Sheen and the Goddesses would arrive and perform a ritual in the front yard involving the Boone family and a can opener; it would not be pretty.
If that did not work I would invite Rush Limbaugh to manicure my front lawn wearing a tight-fitting speedo and a smirk. That should do it.
Publish all of the Residents personal information on the world wide web.
Also, the Residents are my landlords.
Well, I did have to get some methheads out of my rental…so I composed an hour and a half of the most abrasive music/noise I could and played it all night long at 110 db for a couple months.
(I still love that music)
I think the trick is to convince them you can be crazier and more entertained than them….tenant or landlord.
The only way that has ever worked for me. Rape my evil sister in the bathtub until it fills with puss and semen. The key is to always pick the residence on the 3rd floor, and the mess will always leak into the lower apartments. Await the landlord to be phoned for the first complaint, pack your things, and leave the thick, aged sewage for him to clean.
SIMPLE… ;-) …I’d write a letter to my landlord informing ’em that I’ve just landed the movie role of my dreams — the lead in a Hollywood biopic about the wild life of GG Allin — and that I am planning on being IN 100% *FULL* CHARACTER for an entire year prior to filming (while living in my current apartment, of course!). The following illustrative weblinks would conclude my correspondence, and a $10,000 postdated check advance payment installment for “property damage charges not covered by deposit” would be included. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GG_Allin :: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2LvZd_9aMU