It’s All Fire And Brimstone, Baby

When Puscifer nucleus Maynard James Keenan throws a party, it’s hard to know what to expect- but you damn well better bring an open mind and a taste for wine. The  Tool / A Perfect Circle singer is notoriously unpredictable in performance, but never in quality; a relentless perfectionist, Keenan is known for his unrivaled on-stage intensity and execution, whether wailing about fetal spooning with extra-terrestrials or delicately pondering the agony of forgiveness and necessity for constant personal evolution. He’s a man of many hats, however, and Puscifer is his playground for all the ideas and tastes that don’t fit the format of his other projects- it’s  an allegiance-free mix of trip-hop, industrial and tribal sex jams with a strong flare for stand-up comedy and cabaret.

Pucifer hit Club Nokia in downtown Los Angeles Saturday night, a three-ring circus sideshow of skits, side-splitting video segments and, of course, musical performance that displayed a set of material in a state of continuing evolution. It was a satirical variety show that slaughtered sacred cows not just for the fun of it, but as part of a larger celebration of the absurd. 

My heart went out to openers Into The Presence, who had family power on their side (Puscifer drummer Tim Alexander on the kit, ex-APC bassist Paz Lenchantin and her sister Ana on bass & cello, respectively) but sounded no better than the Darkness would if they got a string section and decided to get serious. The crowd played along, knowing what was coming next, but in a less familial setting this band would go down in flames.

Once they departed and the stage was prepped, a film skit rolled with Maynard dressed up in military garb, addressing himself as “Major Douche” while standing in front of an American flag.

Major Douche instructed the audience to check their ticket stubs as a reminder that “No! Flash! Photography! Is! Allowed!” and that as fans of “The Tools” and “Full Circle” we should know better. After some more lecturing, the good Major brought it all together by counting “to the Roman numeral three” and having us all yell “Vagina” as loud as we could. Several times. A first for many, undoubtedly.

Comedian Jim Turner (who some will remember as Randee of the Redwoods from the days when MTV played music) then appeared onstagedressed as a televangelist, conducting a sermon that was quickly interrupted by Maynard riding onstage on a Segway, dressed as a balding old man in a purple velour tracksuit- complete with “Jesus” spelled out in sequins on the ass. I’m not joking.

The theme of the evening seemed to be Dionysian indulgence with a heavy leaning towards religious satire. As Father Tremendous (as Turner called himself) dodged Old Man Keenan’s Segway, he and his nun assistant led the congregation in Sour Grapes‘ pulsing chant of Ha-lle-lu-jea. The hypnotic hymnal filled the room, rising in both volume and intensity until the crowd was enraptured by the willfully-retarded revival ritual. It’s always gonna be sour grapes with you, boy, Maynard wailed over the chanting congregation, Until you get right with Jesus…

The stage set-up was an odd one, consisting of couches set center stage around a coffee table, where friends and fans shuffled in and out of throughout the set, everyone with a glass of Maynard’s Chupacabra wine. Two television screens stood behind the furniture, in front of the vocalist platforms, broadcasting fish-bowl-distorted video of Maynard (who did a quick change and was now looking very Bald Bond in a grey suit, red tie & sunglasses) and the immensely talented Juliette Commagere, who shared vocal duties throughout the night. They literally appeared as talking heads while singing, erasing the disconnect audience members without prime perspectives usually feel when they’re forced to stare at a side monitor to see what’s happening onstage. A brilliant move, really, when you consider modern obsessions with living the “real” moment (and using as much technology as possible to do so). 

It was a sex-funk cabaret circus- Keenan dancing like Tracy Morgan in an old SNL skit, evangelists and nuns and sermonizing like the Devil on ecstasy- a show unlike any you’ve seen, one that bridges the gap between progressive satire and tremendous musical performance. 

The musicianship was as professional and impressive as anything on record under the Puscifer title, with Stolen Babies bassist Rani Sherone serving as the co-anchor to drummer Tim Alexander’s rhythmic backbone. Jonny Polonsky pulled heavy effects work with his wahs and pitch-shifting guitar work, filling in the atmospheric gaps with surgical precision. 

Juliette’s sensually serpentine vocals in Rev 22:20, replacing Keenan’s own, took the song to an even high level of eroticism, which mixed well with the wine flowing like a river both onstage and off- a six-ounce glass of Keenan’s own Chupacabra brand from his Cadeuceus vineyards runs curious sippers a bitter $14, but the taste itself washed away the pain of getting hosed. It’s actually pretty damn good.

After a beautiful rendition of The Undertaker (Spanish Fly Mix) sung in Spanish by both Keenan and Commagere, led by a beautiful classical guitar, the crowd was treated to an episode of The Puscifer Chronicles, a video montage narrated by Maynard in a robotic voice (think a mix between the Salival opening of Tool’s Third Eye and the text-speaking bot from Radiohead’s Fitter, Happier) visually spoken through a mouth turned sideways and superimposed on a naked man’s ass-crack. As we wrapped our heads around that bit of bizarrely hilarious imagery, Keenan ran through a razor-sharp comic breakdown of religion that would do Hicks or Cross proud- running a needle and thread through spiritual lemmings, fear and structured authority, concepts familiar among Keenan’s narrative students from his Tool material.

Maynard raised a glass of the red stuff in salute before launching into an extended but beautifully sparse and delicate version of Momma Sed, repeating the refrain This pain will pass away over and over. It was the perfect precursor to what came next; Keenan presented a song that he’d worked on with Steven Drozd of the Flaming Lips for The Heart Is A Drum Machine, a film that examines the relationship between humanity and music. Before anyone in the audience could register the fact that Keenan had just introduced an Elton John song (“is that gonna be a problem?” he asked with a smirk), the band kicked into a gorgeous, acoustic-driven rendition of Rocket Man, of all things. As Pink Floyd keys and gentle echoes filled the room, Keenan delivered a nearly impossibly fragile narrative without a hint of the tongue-in-cheek one would expect on such an occasion. In a night full of blasphemous absurdity, the Elton John cover was the only serious moment. Talk about setting the rock n’ roll rulebook on fire.

As expected, the Fifth Element herself Milla Jovovich appeared for the show’s final songs, hugging her way out to the front of the stage, dressed like a cracked-out Raggedy Anne bride, taking her time gushing over Juliette and kissing Maynard before the ringleader finally said “Alright, let’s do this shit” and kicked into a sexed-up version of The Mission. The road to hell never seemed so tempting as when Milla- who was all legs in her thrift-shop wedding dress- strutted across the stage, singing It’s all fire & brimstone, baby…

Gil Sherone (of Stolen Babies & Dillinger Escape Plan) pulled back-up duty for Alexander throughout the night, laying backbeats over the rhythm and filling out the band’s sound. He turned the sticks over to Tool drummer Danny Carey, however, who played on the last song of the night, Queen B. Much as I’d like to gush over his performance, the roar of the crowd made it nearly impossible to hear the beat.

For those still wondering whether Puscifer’s worth the trip, don’t take it from me:

They’re playing at Club Nokia again tonight, if you’ve got the time and the dime.

Update: Special thanks to AmateurChemist for some of the pics.