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Clip: Kronos Teen Hunger Force

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  • Carl Z.
    Kronos Teen Hunger Force Death and chaos unite the Aqua Teens cartoon film and
    Message 1 of 1 , May 3, 2007

      Kronos Teen Hunger Force
      Death and chaos unite the Aqua Teens' cartoon film and acclaimed
      string ensemble the Kronos Quartet.
      By David Downs

      Two icons of high and low art mashed up in Press Play's head Sunday,
      and partisans for both extremes would be surprised to find out how
      much the acclaimed ensemble and the gory, surrealist cartoon have in
      common. Prepare to witness, loyal reader, the only
      compare-and-contrast critique of the Kronos Quartet and Aqua Teen
      Hunger Force in the world ever, ever.

      First off, death dominates the minds of both the 34-year-old Bay Area
      string quartet and the seven-year-old surrealist cartoon. Kronos began
      its sold-out show with an unknown Iraqi composer's song, "Oh Mother,
      the Handsome Man Tortures Me." Positive title. Then the musicians
      burrowed deep into Górecki's "[when people die], songs are sung." The
      fifty-minute piece's entire theme is a foghorn-ish duh-duh-duuuuh. A
      real upper.

      Similarly, almost every Aqua Teen character dies during the 82-minute
      feature-length debut of the late-night animated TV series. Frylock,
      the wise, anthropomorphic box of fries, is mauled to death by a
      poodle. Meatwad, the kind-hearted talking meat product, is shotgunned.
      And Master Shake, the egomaniacal milkshake, gets his hands sliced off
      trying to grab a razorblade teddy bear.

      Second, both projects obsess over postmodern nonlinearity, or
      nonsense. Kronos did things to stringed instruments no human should do
      as the quartet performed John Zorn's thrilling 1990 piece "The Dead
      Man." According to the program notes, the New York music czar turned a
      short attention span into a creative asset, and developed a unique
      approach to composition. "Starting with discrete musical ideas — or
      'moments' — jotted down on file cards whenever inspiration struck,
      Zorn would create a new work by assembling the cards in a specific
      order. ... An experience often compared to rapidly pushing the preset
      buttons on a car radio.'"

      Similarly, Aqua Teen's multiple plots and reverses come with a preshow
      warning called "Cut You Up with a Linoleum Knife" by metal champions
      Mastodon. Do not explain the plot! Mastodon screams. If you don't
      understand then you should not be here! ... Did you bring your
      baby?!/Babies don't watch this!/Take the Seed outside!/Leave it in the
      streets!/Run over it after the show!

      "Aggressively plotless," the Los Angeles Times calls Aqua Teen. "It
      will baffle everyone," the Chicago Tribune says. "Strictly for
      cultists," The New York Times sniffs. "A jumble of pop culture
      references," USA Today says. You could say the same for Zorn, because
      older critics don't get Aqua Teen the way people didn't get an
      experimental chamber quartet when Kronos started in '73. Zorn gets it.

      "Zorn has long drawn stylistic inspiration from Carl Stalling's
      soundtracks to the classical Warner Brothers cartoons of the 1940s and
      1950s," the concert's program notes state. "When you listen to
      Stalling's music apart from the animated visuals, Zorn says you 'enter
      a completely new dimension: you are constantly being thrown off
      balance, yet there is something strangely familiar about it all.'"

      Hearing Kronos fuse 1940s cartoon riffs into postmodern pastiches
      completely validated the Aqua Teens. Look at vaudeville comedian
      Groucho Marx, now revered as a primal mover by the likes of Woody
      Allen: "Groucho Marx was the best comedian this country ever
      produced," Allen enthused. "He is simply unique in the same way that
      Picasso or Stravinsky are."

      Kronos' high point came during the debut performance of Stephen
      Prutsman's bizarre, abstract 2006 piece Particle 423. The former
      rocker for Cerebus turned world-renowned composer says, "Since its
      beginnings, every popular song has had some kind of moment, an
      inspiration or 'hook' which emotionally catches a listener. Particle
      423 employs over four hundred of such souvenirs, which are bridged or
      sewn together by acoustic and taped sound design."

      Listening to Particle was like standing in the center of a dust devil
      filled with bits of our culture, all swirling around and catching our
      attention. The dust devil blows itself out slowly and sadly, and the
      members of the quartet mirror the feeling by physically exiting
      through four different doors as they pluck the final notes. It leaves
      the unmistakable impression that Prutsman is talking about the limited
      lifespan of cultures, and the idea that long after America is gone,
      random fragments of what we made will persist.

      Like the number zero, or the shape of an Ionic column, a violent,
      talking happy meal may be all that's left of us. It's our duty, then,
      to appreciate and respect both the highs and lows of culture. And
      trust Mastodon when it sings, Don't talk, watch! You came here!/Watch
      it!/Don't like it?/Walk out!/We still have all your fucking money!
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