'Rock 'n' Roll' at the Goodman and the legend of the Plastic People of the Universe
A great, though seldom-heard, band plays a critical role in Tom Stoppard’s play “Rock ‘n’ Roll,” now running at the Goodman Theatre.
The Plastic People of the Universe literally put their lives on the line to play adventurous, politically charged music in opposition to the communist-run dictatorship in Czechoslovakia during the ‘60s and ‘70s. The band never appears in the play, and its music is only fleetingly heard, but the Plastics are a recurring symbol of one of Stoppard’s central ideas: art and music can shape a society’s consciousness.
My colleague, Tribune theater critic Chris Jones, has already weighed in with a rave review. I’ll be giving my two cents during a free presentation at 6 p.m. Monday at the Goodman with my “Sound Opinions” colleague and Sun-Times critic Jim DeRogatis. We’ll discuss some of the themes in the play, and focus specifically on a few key artists, including the Plastic People of the Universe.
For some background, here’s my review of the Czech sextet’s first concert in Chicago, in March 1999 at the Empty Bottle:
They are a legendary band, heard about but seldom heard. Throughout the '70s the Plastic People of the Universe endured government harassment and even jail terms for "organized disturbance of the peace" in communist-run Czechoslovakia. That kind of rebellion is a long way from the woe-is-me mewling that passes for "pushing the envelope" by most pampered rock stars.
The Plastics did not look like rock stars as they mounted the tiny stage at the Empty Bottle over the weekend, as part of their first North American tour. Weary from storm-plagued travel and deprived of a sound check by their late arrival, the sextet from Prague nonetheless went about its business with unflinching purpose and a hint of snarling sarcasm. With their shoulder-length hair and wire-rim glasses, the Plastics looked like the middle-age hippies they are, and their music still stewed in a late '60s vortex, in which brutish rock clashed with the avant-garde.
Though famously associated with the Velvet Underground, whose music was an early inspiration for the Plastics because of its simplicity, the band members have developed a command of their instruments that brought them closer to the nascent sounds of Frank Zappa, King Crimson and Captain Beefheart.
At the Bottle, the sextet opened with "Podivuhodny Mandarin," in which unison riffing over pile-driving bass gave way to a ferocious space-funk solo by guitarist Joe Karafiat. Vratislav Brabenec provided the final disruption, bursting the song's seams with a speaking-in-tongues alto saxophone break. The band worked variations on that formula throughout its set, locking into galloping grooves, ripping them apart and occasionally reassembling them, but just as often letting them collapse in an exhilarating heap.
The slender, bespectacled Brabenec--looking like a disheveled philosophy professor--served as master of ceremonies, providing translations in fractured, heavily accented English for the band's darkly humorous lyrics and song titles: "A fly in my morning beer," "Oh, how hard my stomach must work before I fall," "Constipation: In my belly a hard stone terror."
Though all the band members took vocal turns, the music was most persuasive when Milan Hlavsa commanded the microphone with his harsh, sing-speak interjections. His gruff tone suited the buzzing fuzz-tone menace of his bass, while drummer Jan Brabec drove the beat hard with bone-dry smacks on his snare and machine-gun fills. On "Toxica," the strokes of Jiri Kabes' viola over a withering, feedback-drenched guitar intro returned the Plastics to their pre-rock roots in East European folk music. Even an encore of the Velvets' "Sweet Jane" found the band putting its own spin on the rock classic, with busy prog-rock flurries linking the familiar chords.
Now, with their music finally gaining long overdue exposure in the West, the Plastics' story becomes complete: Behind the legend lies a great band.
greg@gregkot.com