Von Lmo

Rock music is full of eccentric characters. Few, however, can boast the kind of experiences racked up by Von Lmo (born Frankie Cavallo, in Brooklyn in 1954), active on the rock scene since his teenage years. Legend has it that at a young age he decided to take up drums, while falling in love with the "cosmic" jazz of Sun Ra (another eccentric; another kind of music entirely...). Other, equally unverifiable sources claim he was obsessed with one idea: proving he was better (read: a more devastating drummer) than Keith Moon (Who). Who knows if he really was...

At the dawn of the '70s, together with his lifelong friend Otto von Ruggins, our man put together his first band, Funeral Of Art. Having moved to England, he began recording demos in an attempt to catch the attention of some record label. No luck, it was all for nothing. Von went back to the States, recruited a bunch of misfits and put together a new band, Pumpo. The problem was that none of the new members could actually play an instrument. So they decided to "play" compressors, jackhammers, drills: basically an ante-litteram version of the far more devastating Einsturzende Neubauten. The result was a self-titled album, released in 1974. God only knows what on earth it contained!

In any case, it was only towards the end of the Seventies that Frankie decided (after the experience of Why You... Murder Me?) to adopt the stage name under which he would become a star (?) during nights at Max's Kansas City in New York, right as punk was turning "post-", opening the doors to the great season of new wave. Earlier, however, in 1977, together with von Ruggins he had launched the Kongress project, devoted to total improvisation. Alongside a colorful character like the Australian Geoffrey Crozier, they staged a kind of multimedia show, before being banned from Cbgb's and numerous other New York clubs due to their violently iconoclastic impact.

More hyperactive than ever, Von, after reconnecting with an old friend, Rudolph Grey, recorded the single "We're Not Crazy", backed with "Not Bite" on the B-side, for Red Star (the same label behind the early Suicide, to be clear) under the name Red Transistor. Von himself described his music as "super space-age heavy metal dance rock". Even though those were times well used to certain oddities, the single passed completely unnoticed. In 1978, after much wandering, as mentioned, the definitive project was born: Von Lmo. From this point on, the nights at Max's Kansas City became even more incendiary, the kind of stuff only those who were there could truly do justice to in the telling. Let's make do with our imagination and move on.

Von Lmo recorded “Future Language” in 1981, described by Chuck Eddy in his book “Stairway To Hell” as one of the “500 best heavy metal albums in the universe”. The album takes this highly peculiar “crossover” to an excellent level, further saturating the sound with psychedelic excess worthy of the most terrifying California acid trips.

However, it would only be after a very long period of marginalization (amid drugs and abuse of every kind) that Von Lmo, in 1994, would release his absolute masterpiece: “Cosmic Interception”. It's here that his “super space-age heavy metal dance rock” (well, that sort of thing…) reaches perfection, helped along by an unprecedented “cyberpunk” component. As a result, the compositions become even more mammoth and apocalyptic, even if Von's almost goliardic singing and certain loose-limbed rhythmic touches reveal the same old irreverent streak.

In every track, Von manages to blend shreds of Hawkwind and Chrome, traces of “cosmic” free-jazz (the sax of Juno Saturn — another old friend), roaring keyboards, and rhythmic progressions that are frighteningly grueling and “static”. The wickedness and the almost Wagnerian intensity with which these pieces are often tackled also bring to mind Foetus at his best. Moreover, following the lesson of his beloved Sun Ra, everything is underpinned by a private “cosmic mythology”; and in this, Von seems to be deadly serious. Yet the opening title-track, complete with keyboard counterpoints (the usual von Ruggins), gives no hint of the chaos to come. Metallic inflections infect virtually every sound source, starting with the rhythm and the voice itself.

The following “Radio World” is already tighter in sound. The beat is dry, powerful, precise. Saturn's sax underpins the rhythm & blues progression with an insistent mechanical phrase, while, from the heights of his visceral “crooning”, Von declaims words like a man possessed by prophecy. But it's with “Leave Your Body”, opened by a subliminal voice, that things start taking a dangerous turn. Drummer Bobby Ryan grinds out a compressed rhythm, while sax phrases sway in the background and Mike Kross's guitar rages in cosmic delirium worthy of Helios Creed. The feeling is that of finding yourself at a mega-party, totally out of it, in the depths of outer space. And all this for seven long, devastating minutes… The sinister litany of “Inside Shadowland” (immersed in bubbling synthetic waters and marked out like a mechanical dance) has gothic flavors and a thriller aftertaste. It's the usual transitional track, tasked with building tension that will later detonate in the more explosive songs. The same goes for “Ultraviolet Light”, opened by sinister gusts of synth but then hurled into a hammy techno-billy romp, complete with Kross's blistering solos and frenzied sax phrasing. Above it all, Von's clownish voice.

“Be Yourself” carries on the massacre at a frenzied pace, before a schizoid free-jazz intro sets up the rhythmic dynamite of the masterpiece “Shake, Rattle & Roll” (eight minutes), an atomic rockabilly (with traces of techno-thrash worthy of Ministry) that pushes his musical synthesis to the point of paroxysm. It's a track that, despite its extreme compactness, proves highly mutant and experimental, thanks to a very “free” use of horns and, above all, a wicked iconoclastic frenzy (just listen to the guitar's derailing lysergic openings). In essence, it's clear Von had in mind his own highly peculiar version of the ever-present Sun Ra's “Atlantis”: faithful proof of this comes in the chaotic interludes where the free-jazz takes on disastrous sonic contours, bordering on gratuitous cacophony. Closing things out is one of his greatest classics, “This Is Pop Rock”: pop-rock, sure, but of the cyberpunk era.

Eccentric characters, as we said at the outset. Not only that. At times Von Lmo & co. are also incredibly brilliant. But then, don't genius and eccentricity often go hand in hand? With characters like these, there's certainly no room for doubt.

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14/11/2006