“The King is Dead! Long Live the King!”
This title is totally written on a scroll. With burt edges. Sealed with both a ribbon and wax. Let’s call it gamer chic.
Let me go on record saying I doubt MKT is dead. But Rene Ricard is dead. I found out the day I saw MKT’s show. And because I trust that READING is both PROCESS and MATERIAL for MKT’s dance, I decided that reading Ricard’s “The Radiant Child” was a suitable process for writing about MKT. SAMO and MKT can share a crown. I also decided that I must do something sexy in order to write about MKT. I pour myself a glass of wine and toast to love.
Let me go on record saying I often sniff a little google search stank in MKT’s soundscores. But I can’t complain about the Nina Simone. Nor about anything that happened while it played. This is a coy way of saying that Monica’s watery port de bras was perfection. The watery arms. The watery arms.
Theresa or Tara exited stage left. Rounding the bend behind the black curtain, T or Th set the crinkly black floor crinkling with Monica’s crawl under the grande garbage bag. The seam between these two scenes got me thinking about contiguity, continuity and the urgency of making. With 3 POV’s so fiercely unsynthesized, what we get to see is how they are joined.
It’s crappy (more on that later) and crammed. On the scale of readiness, this dance is the mad dash for the blast cooler to try to turn gummy bears into peanut brittle in less than 2 minutes (am I the only one who watches cooking competition shows? see “Chopped”). MKT crams ideas into a dance the way Bob Dylan crams 9 more words into the line even though the musical meter told him to move on. We know Theresa, Tara, and Monica opted to debate ideas until the last second instead of cutting the conversation short to polish.
Cramming can lead to crappy finish and MKT wears craptastic so well!
I’ll take a crappy Oldenberg plaster cash register over a sleek spoon and cherry any day.
Or maybe MKT is more Basquiat (SAMO crown). Rene Ricard: “I’d rather have a Jean-Michel than a Cy Twombly. I do not live in a classical city. My neighborhood is unsafe. Also I want my home to look like a pile of junk to burglars.”
Tara is the text scrawl. So dry. So macabre. So spot on. Theresa’s bellow over Celine is pure stepped-on puppy paw. Ouch. Yum.
The top of the dance. The unseen stomping promises the next thing as the current thing extinguishes. Instruction for how we’ll all survive the moves. Long live the King.
In response to Mad King Thomas at Pleasure Rebel, Bryant-Lake Bowl Cabaret Theater, April 30, 2014