Abandoning the eyeballs-in-tophats costumes for black face masks, flashlight eyes, and bunny ears, The Residents rolled through New York to debut what some are rumoring to be their final tour, though any information regarding this enigmatic group is to be taken with a grain of salt; their even more paradoxical PR company, The Cryptic Corporation, have been spreading disinformation about their sole clients for 40 years now. In fact, to this day, after nearly half a century of making music, The Residents remain anonymous at large, with no one able to say definitively where they even come from (Mars?). It's in this mode of anonymity that the group have fed and nurtured a still-growing mystique, recruited a legion of fans culled from D&D comic book nerds, punk miscreants, and all weirdos inbetwixt.
The quasi-theatrical live performance featured tracks solely from The Residents new disc Bunny Boy, a concept album that chronicles the exploits of a somewhat schizophrenic, definitively frazzled, and possibly homeless man they call the Bunny Boy. The album, live act, and accompanying 13-part webisode series (which plays like a mix between a baffling Lynch mystery and home movies of your drunk uncle) detail the exploits of said protagonist, who, with a Norman Bates-level bunny obsession, nervously tells of the disappearance of his brother Harvey, an e-mail relationship with a wealthy Nigerian prince, and a trip to the Greek island of Patmos where either Harvey or the Bunny Boy (Or both? Or were they the same person? I’m still a little confused) disappeared into the Holy Cave of the Apocalypse. Weird stuff for sure, but this type of reduction ad absurdum is typical Residents fare.
Playing in the shelter of a half geodesic dome, The Residents plodded through nearly all the songs on Bunny Boy. Rarely moving from their spots, the masked musicians consistently gave off an inhuman, robotic vibe. Their synthesizer, guitar, and drum machine attack felt like authentic Residents; it was similar to, though not quite as satisfying as Duck Stab or Eskimo nor as maddening as Third Reich ‘n’ Roll, but for a group that’s been this bizarre for this long, kudos go to them for still being able to keep it weird. An array of lights, smoke machines, videos, and projected patterns made the night a real multimedia event.
I have to admit, with some regret, that the performance's strongest moments were when the Bunny Boy would disappear through a sheeted door in the middle of the stage -- into what he dubbed his “secret room” -- while the group played on their own. Not that I didn’t find his wild antics at least partly entertaining, but often his overly bombastic dementia relegated The Residents to background-band status. Still, his contributions on songs like "Boxes of Armageddon" and "Blood on the Bunny" reached chillingly cathartic heights.
At the end of the second act (spoiler alert: the Bunny Boy’s secret room is revealed), one audience member shouted out “Constantinople!” before the encore, and I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement. A part of me wished they would just come out and do a few standards in their classic outfits, but it wasn’t to be. I wasn't disappointed by the Bunny Boy song cycle and act, but hopefully the “last tour” rumor, like every other one started about the group, will turn out to be false, and I’ll still get a chance to see those damn eyeballs.