Ballet of the melted men

Mel­ted Men (USA/FRA/NED) ///
Bul­bul (AUT) ///

Sat, April 11 2004, 20:00 /// 
Cafe-thea­t­re and bal­let school MAESTRO (for­mer cine­ma “Apol­lo”), Linz ///

Mel­ted Men are back! After their appearan­ce in the Grot­ten­bahn insi­de of the Pöst­ling­berg in Linz two years ago the mad per­for­mance group was ban­ned from Linz for one year. Back then Mel­ted Men tur­ned rhe­to­ric in action and cut the toe nails of the dwarfs and fai­ry tale figu­res to smo­ke them after­wards tog­e­ther with the audi­ence. On this year’s European tour they will hit Linz again. For their per­for­mance this time Mel­ted Men have cho­sen the for­mer cine­ma “Apol­lo” at the Hes­sen­platz. Mean­while the thea­t­re and bal­let school MAESTRO is loca­ted at that place.

So, what is more logi­cal than to adapt the exis­ting con­cepts of Mel­ted Mens musi­cal work to the space? But – which con­cepts? Once in an inter­view Mel­ted Men gave the fol­lo­wing ans­wer on the ques­ti­on how their music is crea­ted: “Take a pola­ro­id of Mel­ted Men and sli­ce it quick­ly to expo­se the che­mi­cals. Than cover the streets with cloths and put the che­mi­cals on the hoofs of a goat. Let this goat run whe­re­ver it wants and burn the cloths after­wards. Take the ash and put it back into the pola­ro­id. At least you take a pic­tu­re of anything. That’s how things deve­lop.”

Mel­ted Men tru­ly are the gods among the per­for­mance groups world­wi­de. Whilst they spin around on stilts in rab­bit cos­tu­mes and with 40 ciga­ret­tes in their mouth, teach the audi­ence arbi­tra­ry hops­cotch ritu­als with bam­boo sticks and eat the hands, ears and noses of fun­ny loo­king voo­doo pup­pets made out of car­rots, they tell sto­ries about Fran­cois Mit­te­rand who sits in a Ger­man pineapp­le and ear­ned a plum­ber diplo­ma for some rea­son to build a pipe­line bet­ween Bre­men and Flo­ri­da. All of the above, com­bi­ned with musi­cal ingre­dients like mini­mal drums, cra­zy squeak-elec­tro­nic, gro­aning, moaning and quacking, car horns or jin­gles lea­ves the audi­ence every sin­gle con­cert pen­ding bet­ween men­tal break­downs and enthu­si­astic orgasms.

They will be sup­por­ted by the for­mi­da­ble Bul­bul from Vien­na. Noi­se rock’n’roll, redu­ced to the maxi­mum, power­ful like a full hor­de of Mel­vins. Quo­ta­ti­on of them­sel­ves: “The Bul­bul are play­ing fas­ter than any moun­tain and are able to eat like the wood­chop­pers.”

(Pho­tos: qujOchÖ)

(Camera/Editing: qujOchÖ)

(Camera/Editing: qujOchÖ)