Mojo - The Music Magazine

The Residents showed their bunny ears at Transmusicales. Kieron Tyler saw it happen.

IT’S HARDLY A CLASSIC singalong. A white-bearded gent in his sixties flails his arms like an old-time preacher and chants “I butchered hogs and cut off chicken heads, I wanted to be a butcher, a jolly butcher”. A programmed rhythm kicks in and heads begin to nod. The beats stop and bemusement spreads through the crowd. No dancing then.

The Residents are playing Transmusicales, the annual four-day festival held during December in Rennes, Brittany’s windswept capital. Apart from their venerable frontman (who may or may not be named Homer Flynn – The Residents’s insistence on anonymity precludes clarity on such matters), the band wear sparkly black tail coats, black face masks and bunny ears. They’re performing The Bunny Boy, their latest album, which tells the story of the search for their missing colleague Harvey by his brother. Known as Bunny because of his pet rabbit, Harvey sure has a weird brother.

Later in the show, “Flynn” dons a white, slightly grubby, man-size rabbit suit and begins ranting about “boxes of Armageddon, boxes full of death” to music falling between early ’70s Zappa and snail’s-pace techno. Normally, this would be challenging enough, but at 10.30 on a Saturday night in a metal aircraft hanger the size of three football pitches it’s a huge mismatch with the audience’s expectation. The language is no barrier – cheers ring out when Armageddon is associated with America – but it’s not what’s craved. The crowd are after something they can move to.

Caught halfway through a European tour, The Residents’ festival foray is brave. The sudden shifts from aural assault to verbal narrative are more suited to an environment where reflection is possible – like a sit-down theatre. It’s a magnificent performance, though, way outside the comfort zone that festivals usually offer. Wandering to the back of the hall, I find that the audience is leaving at the pace that a tube train disgorges rush hour passengers.

Disconnects like this are typical at Transmusicales. The Residents are playing the Parc Expo, an adjunct of Rennes’ freight airport around 8 or 9 miles from the city centre. The audience arrive by bus. Many are already drunk, prepped for an all-night session. By midnight the tarmac roads between the Parc’s venues are littered with prone, rain-sodden, figures. A young man is trying to get into the backstage area. His tactic is to pick a fight with the security guard. He doesn’t get in.

Thankfully, there’s more to Transmusicales than such unpleasantness. Texan psych-doomsters The Black Angels pin you back with their power and strength of purpose. French DJ Gilles Le Guen brings melody into the mix, even though his beats are relentless.

Back in Rennes, Transmusicales also runs a city-wide series of shows at theatres and bars. At La Cité, the pairing of Bon Iver and French singer-songwriter Sammy Decoster is inspired. Bon Iver soars, yet remains downbeat. Justin Vernon makes time to thank his French hosts, who he says have been helpful beyond call. Decoster’s songs are oceanic, rolling like waves. Inspired by Elvis and America’s open spaces, he’s invented a form of rural Gallic Americana. At the small L’Ubu club, Finnish girl trio Les Grands Corps Mince De Françoise are engagingly bouncing their way through a herky-jerky shout-peppered set. Earlier, they say that Rihanna is their inspiration.

American R&B isn’t on the mind of Budam, a singer from the Faroe Islands, who’s taking part in the festival-long showcase of the Islands’ music at L’Aire Libre, an out-of-town theatre. He’s mesmeric, theatrically blending the Threepenny Opera with Billy Holliday. Nick Cave and Tom Waits fans will need to make room for him. Headlining the season are Orka (pronounced Orsh-ka), a serious-minded collective with homemade instruments that have Yann Tiersen guesting in their line up. His presence ensures all the Faroese shows are sold out.

If all that weren’t enough, there’s also the off-festival Bars En Trans strand which randomly throws up some delights. Fanny Tastic is Fanny Chériaux, a local singer whose set at The Museum Café includes a wonderful 45-minute section with a string quartet. Headlining above her is ex-pat Brit Hugh Coltman, who is currently cleaning up in France, but his lite-soul pop grates against Fanny Tastic’s gravity. More surreal are Molly’s, an Amiens band that play a bar called La Samba. Their singer wears a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club T shirt – and that’s exactly what they sound like (perhaps he should consider less easily parsed apparel). More satisfying are Fireball, seen at the 1929 bar, a local garage-rock hybrid of Shocking Blue and early Deep Purple.

With the exception of metal, whatever style you want is here. Over the four-day period, there’s around 170 bands/DJs playing. The rain is torrential. It’s close to freezing. You’re worn out. Rabbits, Armageddon, jolly butchers: no wonder it gets a soupçon intense at times.

Kieron Tyler