November 8, 2000

London Shoreditch Town Hall

The skinny fella is on his third costume change of the night...

The skinny fella is on his third costume change of the night, and
is flailing about maniacally while being wheeled up and down a catwalk by a 19th century courtesan. Stuffed animal heads stare down upon him from the balcony above, as a snow machine sprays the audience - drunk on free vodka'n'cranberry and stuffed from the gratis hog roast at the side of the stage - with white foam. This, then, is the Menlo Park experience.

The Park are the project of
one Chris Taylor, a transplanted Philadelphian who pieced together this expertly-decorated parade of foibles from a Hoxton bedsit. Musically, the reference points
are all over the place, Chris's
many-membered orchestra indulging him in an absinthe-splashed blur that recalls
16 Horsepower's dustbowl-preacher mania, the Gallic
hoedown of Les Negresses Vertes, and the pop-luxe of My Life Story.

Tied together with a stage
show that revels in theatrical flourishes and costuming, the
whole thing closer resembles a circus or a perverse Broadway musical more than a plain old
gig. Chris glories in all the role-playing - one moment a child abusing father ('Priscilla Jones'), the next a circus freak (the devastating 'Paraplegic Dancer') - relishing the absurd, melodramatic sickness of his vision.

The crowd, most with no previous knowledge of Menlo
Park, love every minute of it. Ditching traditional marketing methods, Chris is relying on a series of such elaborate (and free) events to sell the band's debut album to an unsuspecting public. And, as he swings over the audience from a bungee rope,
fire-eaters spitting flames behind him, you suspect that, should the gamble not pay off, Chris can comfort himself with the memory of some truly unique experiences.

Stevie Chick