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Lighting should be theatrical rather than rockist. We are interested in atmosphere, mood, drama, energy, subtlety, imagination -- not rock cliche."

So reads one of the dozens of protocols directed at light men, stagehands, producers, promoters, journalists, record labels and even would-be members of the band Pere Ubu. These commandments, listed on the group's Web site, show an almost monomaniacal obsession with concept and detail -- an obsession evident in just about anything Pere Ubu has ever put its name on.

"There is one thing that we are really unique and unmatched in," says Ubu founder and lead vocalist David Thomas. "Absolute focus."

Thomas is the hub around which Pere Ubu has revolved for the past 28 years. Formed in Cleveland in 1975, the group was initially led by Thomas and guitarist Peter Laughner, both formerly of Rocket From the Tombs -- the now-legendary garage-rock outfit that begat the Kiss-meets-Iggy snarl of the Dead Boys. Pere Ubu, though, followed a more convoluted path. The group hammered out vision-blurring fits of rock and roll, then dosed them with a tonic of free jazz and musique concrète, like Eric Dolphy and Edgar Varese covering Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. "Midwestern groove rock" is how Thomas once soberly described it.

"Groove rock means you play one chord as long as you possibly can," he explains, "like the MC5 or the Stooges. If you've ever noticed, Pere Ubu songs aren't terribly complex. They're riffs. We're a riff rock band."

Ubu released two singles on its own label, Hearpen, by 1976: the stunning "30 Seconds Over Tokyo" and the smoldering "Final Solution," a modest hit in the '80s for goth pinup Peter Murphy. Laughner left the group soon after; he died in 1977 of health problems arising from alcohol and drug addiction. The group recorded its debut album The Modern Dance later that year. Released in 1978, The Modern Dance is perennially cited as one of the most influential -- or just plain best -- rock albums ever made. Thomas, then under the nom de guerre Crocus Behemoth, cut an arresting figure on stage: big-boned, impeccably dressed, limbs jerking like a marionette's, and with a high, sharp caterwaul that spewed festoons of lurid free association.

"If we're visually striking, it's probably because we have striking characters, strong personalities. I would always wear a suit back then, and so did Mayo," Thomas says, referring to Mayo Thompson, one of Laughner's replacements and the founder of the decades-spanning experimental rock ensemble the Red Crayola. "We started wearing suits from the very early days. All the blues guys wore suits. We just figured that's what you do. At that point, I also think we were trying to consciously separate ourselves from everyone else."

As much as Thomas and company sought to stand apart, Murphy and his previous band, Bauhaus, were not the only new-wave group to be either influenced by or associated with Pere Ubu. Everyone from Adam and the Ants to Wire to the Fall stole a chunk of Ubu's sound, and the band toured England in the late '70s and early '80s with the likes of the Human League, the Soft Boys and Gang of Four. In 1981, a live clip of Pere Ubu appeared in the film Urgh! A Music War, a documentary of up-and-coming new-wave bands. Ubu's spastic, unsettling performance of its song "Birdies" is crammed jarringly in between tracks of Joan Jett strutting with affectation and Gary Numan driving through fog-machine clouds in a little silver car.

"We never particularly saw ourselves in the context of what anyone else was doing," Thomas says. "I don't know how much affinity I have for those people. There was a certain amount of freakishness that attached itself to the new wave or whatever it was, a bit of geekiness. Not geekiness, but...exhibitionism."

So where does Pere Ubu draw the line between exhibitionism and theatricality?

"Obviously, a band is a theatrical experience," replies Thomas, "but not in the same pure sense of theatricality as legitimate theater. What they both share is a strong sense of ritual. It's the same sense of ritual that folk music possesses. It isn't derived from the high-culture end of things."

"We are amateurs," he continues. "We're all self-taught. Lots of great folk musicians who, like us, are self-taught have put a lot of effort into what they do. Atonality and noise were not introduced into music out of incompetence. When atonality and other pure sound elements were being introduced, it was because the rock musicians of the day were trying to expand the vocabulary of what they were doing. It's a real mistake to think that any idiot can make atonal music; they can't. It really does take a certain amount of discipline to make atonal music interesting for more than twenty or thirty seconds."

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Jason Heller
Contact: Jason Heller