We've all seen, or at least heard, that The Wizard of Oz can be mysteriously synchronized with Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. I personally have stared in amazement as the bright Technicolor world of Oz came into view just as the audio track transitioned into "Money." "How did they do that?" I wondered, not sure who "they" was. Suddenly, munchkins became miniature, choreographed participants in an interpretive dance. Odd sound effects punctuated distinct moments, giving them new significance. The Wizard of Oz was no longer The Wizard of Oz. It was... trippy.
"They," this time meaning the Devil Music Ensemble, were on to something. The Boston-based group with Brendon Wood on guitar, Jonah Rapino on violin and vibraphone and Tim Nylander on drums arrived at Smith Auditorium on Monday night as part of a Halloween 2004 East Coast Tour, instruments ready. Instead of The Wizard of Oz, the visual choreography was the original German expressionist cult classic from 1919, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, a silent murder mystery directed by Robert Wiene. The abstract cut-paper set design and bizarre perspective that made its reputation in the world of film buffs set the stage perfectly for the musical theatrics of the Ensemble as they twanged, plucked and synthesized a well-timed score.
A psychological horror in and of itself, Cabinet follows the obsession of Dr. Caligari as his somnambulist Cesare covertly performs evil deeds against his waking will in the name of scientific discovery. The confusion and suspense of the plot are underscored by the exaggerated gestures and blackened features of the actors as they mime fear, mistrust, anxiety, deceit, and discovery. Watching it for the second time (the first having inadvertently fallen asleep due to a lack of sensory stimulation) I was riveted to the nightmarish backdrops and frighteningly motorized movements of the characters as they followed the narrative of the music.
At one point in the film, Dr. Caligari motioned to the vampire-esque figure of Cesare in his upright coffin, camera zooming in on pale face and dark sockets. As the lips and eyelids began to twitch, the drums crescendoed into a horrific roar culminating in the clash of symbols as the somnambulist's white eyes popped open in sudden awareness. Internally one added the perfunctory "It's Alive!"
Other interludes were softly sinister. With gentle beats keeping the rhythm, whale-like echoes gave the empty streets a Twilight Zone quality while two of the characters engaged in a foreshadowing tete-a-tete. The synthesized carnival music in the fair scene made it seem creepy and supernatural, bringing back nightmares of clowns and other demented variations on childhood playthings.
When asked where the name of their group came from, guitarist Brendan Wood accredited his mother: "I was listening to a Van Halen album, and she called it Devil Music. I thought that was pretty funny." And funny, in the bizarre, and mystifying sense, it certainly was. With the lack of internal dialogue, the sound of live music became the plot, and the characters, like puppets on a stage, fell into a perfectly choreographed performance to the alterna-world of New Age music.