Melted Men’s Psychotronic Assault
Guest-Starring Irene Moon: A Quinn-Martin Production
High Hat, Athens, GA • 2.16.98
S.D. Fitzpatrick
Here they cum, Tick-Man and Hatchet-Man, geared for psychic warfare; hooded for effect and busting a hole in your already Swiss-cheesed cranium. Pass me a fifth of Mr. Boston!
Anyway, I busted into the High Hat on that inauspicious night of the 16th, hungry for some mind-candy made with beef and pork by-products, and damned if I didn’t get what I was looking for! This roving ear was a trifle late and I missed most of the lecture given by Dr. Irene Moon. She proceeded to chastise me and rightly so, because like any delinquent-man, I’m likely to stir-up trouble anywhere I go. I enjoyed the punishment thoroughly. I have been previously illuminated by the good doctor’s lectures and you should too. Don’t ask why, just go seek out Dr. Moon’s cooler-than-crap orange vinyl release and be prepared to have your brain and ass whipped into entomological submission. It’s good for you. That is, if you’re capable of the independent thought necessary to do so, or are you too busy trying to be accepted by some arbitrary social group or being a local “celebrity,” you fricking stool-sample.
Dr. Moon’s lecture this night was based on the lowly planarian, a creature you have no doubt seen in grade-school textbooks. It’s a funny-looking invertebrate that can be cut in two and subsequently turned into two separate creatures. It rarely needs a date on a Saturday night because it can just chop one off. Don’t try this at home, kids.
After the Doctor had split, the Mighty and Mightily Demented Melted Men charged onto the stage and proceeded to tunnel into the abyss. There was a projector there to fill folks in on… something or the other, and a good bit of analog synthesizer sound was being used as back-up weaponry. Cutting drum-machine blasts were punctuated by droning what-zits, with the ghosts of late-sixties TV ads glaring on the screen. Included were images of shampoo ads, tea-bag ads and, I believe Telly Savalas made an appearance, but don’t quote me on that. There was a good bit of live percussion taking place too, mostly from the bludgeoning red hands of the Tick-Man. Hatchet-Man became a blur as machines were being set into motion and then abruptly shut- down. For those of us who have a clue, this was a Full-On Deprogramming Assault featuring the Specters of Lost Media Burnt to a Crisp! Pass the horseradish!
The whole thing seemed to be moved by a third element, an invisible hand of sorts; as the collisions of pink noise increased, strange things seemed to happen. If I may explain, what I’m getting at is chaos-theory brought to life. Blood-red, pulsating life. At one point the image of a baby’s head appeared, crowned with the halo of a micro-organism. What? None of this matters, though, because this show was the sum-total of its component parts, which makes for some of the best entertainment this region has to offer.
When the show was over, I did my best to retreat into the night, into the obscurity that feels right. The sound waves were still reverberated in my skull, and the rest of the world looked more absurd than what I had just heard and seen.
OK, you owe it to yourself to go purchase the various Melted-Men products and go see them live. Now! I said now! ◼
