Sound Check — Geoff Carter: Fending off the compelling urge for a ‘Blue’ Christmas

Friday, Dec. 17, 1999 | 9:44 a.m.

Geoff Carter's music column appears Fridays. Reach him at carter@ vegas.com

You shouldn't buy Blue Man Group's "non-soundtrack" CD "Audio." Not yet. Rather, you should stalk it for a while.

Breeze right past the rack holding the CD, feigning complete disinterest. Visit the official web site of the New York-based performance art group (http://www.blueman.com) and read up on its critically acclaimed, nearly indescribable stage show, taking care to avoid the "purchase CD now" link. Anticipate the opening of "Blue Man Group -- Live at Luxor" in March 2000 with every cell of your body ... but do not, by God, buy the CD yet.

You'll want to acquire "Audio" as close to the opening of the Luxor show as possible, for this reason and this reason alone: Your anticipation for the live show will soar upon hearing it. I've listened to "Audio" several times this morning already, and I have to tell you -- the next 3 1/2 months are going to be murder. I want to see Blue Man Group right now. Truthfully, I want to join Blue Man Group right now.

They might even have room for me. "Audio" is just the latest step in BMG's bid for world domination, a campaign that has seen highly successful New York, Boston, and Chicago incursions; the next evolutionary step, playing Vegas, should push them over the summit. Not bad work for a bunch of guys in shiny blue makeup and modified black Nehru suits. At the rate BMG is growing, they'll need an army of Blue Men -- beating out melodies on varying lengths of PVC pipe, gettin' jiggy with the Utne Drums and noshing on airborne marshmallows.

So how much of the BMG comes across on CD? Surprisingly, quite a bit. For a "group" as dependent upon every one of your senses, "Audio" packs a strong visual punch. It's possible to enjoy "Audio" simply as an album of kick-butt instrumental rock, with the all the colors and definition the listener might bring to such an enterprise. With repeated listening, however, the sounds change.

The change seems subtle at first -- after all, the instrumentation is fairly eccentric. (A small sampling of the instruments used, from the "PVC Instrument" to the ultra-cool "Backpack Tubulum," are pictured -- and pithily described -- in the CD booklet.) Eventually, however, the entire affair seems off-kilter -- as if alien beings had picked up the instruments and figured out their individual sounds through trial and error. Which is, of course, the point of the show.

The path through "Audio" requires you to crawl on your belly, metaphorically-speaking. Bubbling jungle percussion supports faraway-sounding, heavily distorted guitars; imagine traversing a soft, blue velvet passageway with breathing walls. And oh yes, you're wearing suit made of feathers, with cleated shoes.

"Audio" is dance music for those who have never been to a disco, who have no fear of being ridiculed for dancing intuitive, absurd-looking jigs. If there was ever a time to take the old saying "Dance like nobody is watching" to heart, it's over the course of these 14 tracks.

You'll find all this out for yourself, of course, when you get around to purchasing "Audio" ... sometime in late January or early February. Wait for it, wait for it ...

Hot Llamas

Another exploratory vessel, though one more grounded in melody than intuition, is the High Llamas, a "chamber pop" vessel out of London. "Snowbug" continues the established tack: in the Gulf of Pop, somewhere between the colossus of Steely Dan and a floating Woody containing the "Pet Sounds"-era Beach Boys. It may look like smooth sailing, but don't be fooled -- these still waters run deep.

The captain of the S.S. Llama, singer/guitarist Sean O'Hagan, runs a tight ship. "Snowbug" is as enjoyable a piece of pop songcraft as the group's shimmering debut, 1994's "Gideon Gaye." On that disc, O'Hagan and crew were content to quote their influences pretty much verbatim; "Checking In, Checking Out" is the best song Steely Dan never wrote.

Over the course of five years and two albums, O'Hagan gained a stronger understanding of his craft, and even learnt to tweak it: he masterminded an EP of remixes from 1998's "Cold and Bouncy," the terrific "Lollo Rosso." O'Hagan plays things looser and less revelatory on "Snowbug," and the band is richer for it. Like Rupert Wainwright and Combustible Edison before him, O'Hagan has discovered the true meaning of happy hour.

I can easily imagine the gently percolating soul number "The American Scene" moving the underground lounge set, even without a remix. "Amin," "Bach Ze" and "Harpers Romo" almost seem to shiver with their own cool. This is pop so pure that it's almost subversive, much like the Flaming Lips' much-ballyhooed "The Soft Bulletin." And like that milestone, a good chunk of the world won't get the High Llamas, either. O'Hagan is sailing against the tide, and more power to him.