"Surrealistic Dessert Live or Why Did I Even Bother Ever Learning to Read Music"
One hazy night back in 1997 I was traveling the back alleys around Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. It started off rather normally; I had just attended a class discussing the psychological and sociological significance of the television show "Married With Children" on middle-class American society. I then decided to go to the famed Amoeba Records to see if they got any Nitro on vinyl in stock. After I was disappointed to find that none existed and with my taste for outrageous late 1980's shred metal unquenched, I decided to check the experimental music section. This is something I do rather periodically when I discover that no women I personally know are in the store. I came across a CD utilizing a pencilled college-ruled piece of notebook paper for the cover. Scribbled across in what seemed to be some nitrous-induced stupor were the words "Surrealistic Dessert." Immediately as I gazed at this disheveled looking piece of modern recording, two strange gentlemen in capes sporting mirrored sunglasses, fedoras, and Atari t-shirts slipped me a flier. The next thing I knew they had disappeared. Shaken but not completely stirred I gazed at the flier and this is what it said:
Tonight: One Night Only: The Revolutionary Supergroup Surrealistic Dessert
Live at where the only bastion of Berkeley remains amongst Frat Row.
Time: Sometime around midnight.
Since I was probably going to spend my evening playing Road Rash on Sega Genesis while drinking months old Michelob from Fred's market, I decided to check it out. It did not take me long to figure out what the last bastion of Berkeley amongst Frat Row meant. To all you outsiders, "Frat Row" describes the sea of fraternity and sorority houses that line Piedmont, Durant, Channing, and Haste streets in the Southside of Berkeley, CA. They are places that revel in beer bongs, SUV's, football, and voting for Michael Huffington. These are pretty anti-Berkeley activities to the one's familiar with Vietnam-protests, the Free Speech Movement, People's Park, and The Naked Guy. However the Co-op system kept somewhat the Berkeley tradition alive because its residents tended to be half-baked people still listening to early seventies prog-fusion who would vote for Ralph Nader if they could get out of bed in time. And there was one unnamed co-op amongst frat row that tended to blare a mixture of Mahavishnu Orchestra, Deicide, Bob Marley, Muddy Waters, and the occasional Vapors classic "Turning Japanese."
I approached the house around eleven-thirty. This was on a Wednesday night because according to a disclaimer on the Surrealistic Dessert CD they said such night was the best to party. I imagined the members would find no difficulty partying on any night. I knocked on the door and two girls around nineteen with candy apple red colored hair who answered to names of small insects found in flower gardens answered the door. They said, "what you want." And I replied, "I don't know." So they replied, "All right then." And let me in. The house itself resembled what was probably once a wealthy turn of the century house done probably by some renowned architect like Julia Morgan (the Hearst Castle) but showed its deteriorating age by constant abuse from rambunctious twenty year olds who like to have water fights. Behind a door next to a pay telephone being used by a guy who resembled a guitarist in Napalm Death was an eerie clamor. I decided to venture forth because…..Well I had nothing better to do.
I came downstairs I found a group of people who looked to be a mixture of mod kids, indie kids, rrrrriot girls, jazz saxophonists, video game geeks, Navy Seals, a couple of hippies, and some Jack Kerouac wannabe hopelessly looking for the lost chapter to the Dharma Bums. In the corner behind a beer and bong stained pool table adorned with headless pool cues was the co-ops personal house band. I found out that they were not Surrealistic Dessert but psychedelic-southern rockers "Chitlin' Justice." It was quite a musical experience because I mean they were playing together but I think the guitarist was playing alongside Megadeth, the Bass Player was playing with Buddy Guy, and the Drummer thought he was Bill Ward circa Sabotage era. Anyway the small crowd was unfazed because they seemed to be more interested in the fifteen-person hookah that was the centerpiece of the room. I reached into the refrigerator, grabbed a Magnum 40 oz and listened.
As midnight came, Chitlin' Justice seemed to be stuck on the same song. I really couldn't tell, but it seemed to keep phasing in and out of Foxy Lady and Buckethead on 'shrooms. I expected them to finish but they kept on going because I found that Surrealistic Dessert forgot about the performance and were upstairs microwaving nachos in anticipation of the daily midnight broadcast of The Tick!. Chitlin' Justice finally ended what they labeled an epic they called "Bandelero Tequila And A Pocketful of Snuff at CZ." They left the makeshift stage only to be replaced by three guys dressed in leather trenchcoats and facepaint who called themselves "Dark Overlord." The guitarist who called himself Hellonious Monk played for the next half-hour brutal tritones on a detuned to Bb guitar.
This was all well and good but I came to unravel the mystery behind Surrealistic Dessert. As I was about to leave because my patience had got the best of me the room then went black. An eerie red and green haze loomed through the room. Then one light appeared and it focused on the same two men who mysteriously approached me at Amoeba Records some hours before. At that moment the centerpiece hookah started to sway like a Moroccan snake charmer and spew a noxious but inviting odor. Then the two guys or shall I say enigmas started what could be called a song. I could not really tell what instruments they were playing but I could tell they had every imaginable one at their disposal.
It was a short performance albeit under a half an hour. Apparently that's all they had ever bothered to come up with. The first song they played was titled "Interstate Five." One of them played a clean guitar while whispering vocals about thrift stores in the Delta while the other found new inventive ways to create a wall of noise. Since this song actually had something that resembled melody I figured this was the single. The crowd was transfixed on the music and the small do-it-yourself official Pink Floyd Home Laser Light Show and the computer screen in the back that showed the newest form of the After Dark screen saver.
The second song Satan Distortion was a mixture of late 60's fuzz, early Trash Metal, and Tin Pan Alley. I kind of got lost in the haze as the guitarist pretty much kept repeating the same arpeggios in the E-Phrygian mode for five minutes amongst the vocalists strained clove-induced death growls. Then for the next fifteen minutes they seemed to ignore their instruments and became preoccupied with the slices of Hawaiian pizza and Wild Turkey in front of them. They ignored the crowd but kept the music going with the occasional bass drum hit, the continuing drone of a small instrument known as Laughing Buddha and a twenty-minute sustained feedback chord. After this minor trance they went straight into their Grindcore hit "Chyme Casserole." That blew the rear wall off its hinges.
Their final song was an atmospheric number called "Resin of Reason." I cannot emphasize how the song went because I found myself forced into a hypnotic trance by the droning bass-line and harmonized wah-wah tones. In my trance the room expanded into a large music hall with towering infernos for walls. The crowd turned into the characters found in the Mid-80's video game "Rampage." The room seemed to slope up to a large stage that resembled an altar in Slayer's vision of hell with goat-headed beasts providing the music. Eventually the music ceased, the smoke again filled the room, and the band with equipment ceased to occupy the room. I was transported back to the dingy co-op basement poolroom and went home.
I can not fully explain what musical revolution occurred that night but I knew that the music world would never be the same. Perhaps for the best, that is the only performance of Surrealistic Dessert that has occurred to my knowledge. I heard a rumor that they opened for REO Speedwagon at Konocti Harbor but my source of information had resided in the same basement room of a co-op for six years. I did not take it seriously. 'Til this day I have yet to find a band that pushes the envelope in the same horridly magical way as Surrealistic Dessert.