Rick Moody and One Ring Zero

"

Come to think of it, I could get arrested for listening to this…


"

 


 


This record is nuts but it's a must. Shucks, life is far too short to be dismissive...


 


Essentially, it's a spoken word piece (split over three tracks) drawing on the narrator's personal history; (or then again, I presume so, indeed I hope so, else this chap must possess a very fecund imagination, one that could get him into a lot of trouble. Actually, on second thoughts, having listened to track two, I hope not).


 


Metal is a trawl through the psychotic backwaters of Rick Moody's childhood memories, and whilst that sounds pretty awful on paper, its actually quite affecting listening. The track is primarily interested in Mr Moody's obsession with bubble gum, girls and vomiting. Set to a squiffy sounding soundtrack, played by mice, obviously let loose by Mr Moody to noodle around in the recording studio, Metal at first nods a musical head to Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water, a monstrosity enough for the casual listener you'd imagine. Sonically things get only more challenging when the mice decide to segue the music into an appalling rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar. It is at this point that you realise that the mice may be blessed with human intelligence but are still only equipped with mouse feet. If I were Mr Lloyd Weber I'd be shuddering in fright and anger. No matter.


 


Whosoever is an oedipal trawl (accompanied by a Theremin or a casio at points) through a closet of Mr Moody's imagination that should have remained forever shut. There are detailed, rather obsessive descriptions of a mother's body and faeces and somewhat bizarrely, a mention of The Royal Burundi Drummers. (I like the Royal Burundi Drummers. They played with Echo and The Bunnymen once...) Luckily Mime Finale starts off, and indeed, ends (for it is only 1 minute long) in a much more jocular vein, almost like the Safety Dance by the Men Without Hats... Maybe Mr Moody wants us to think that the preceeding track was all but a mere charade, a game at our expense?


 


Come to think of it, I could get arrested for listening to this...


 


Words : Richard Foster