It is a wonderful experience to witness a performance that lends new appreciation to an old text. I encountered several such experiences while listening to Closed on Account of Rabies. Perhaps it isn't too much of a surprise that the writing of Poe--detailed, macabre Poe--would give rise to such remarkable pieces even 150 years after his death. Eleven of the fourteen tracks on this double-disc album are readings of Poe's tales and poems (the other three are works put to music), and each captures a different tone. The only thread running throughout, besides the sense of the macabre that marked Poe's writing, is a definite sense of restraint.
The album opens with Marianne Faithfull's "Alone," which, with its musical backdrop in slight, but not uncomfortable, discord with the content of the text it accompanies, indicates the sonic direction the album is going to take. The second tale is "The Raven," read by Christopher Walken (such a choice makes me wonder if someone involved with planning the album hadn't recently watched him do the same in The Dead Zone). Walken's reading of what is arguably Poe's most famous poem is the best example of a performance bestowing new appreciation of an old text to the audience--he reminds the listener that "The Raven" is one of the most skillfully crafted poems in the English language. Not only that, Walken's performance is excellent; through his unique voice he shows a distinct understanding for Poe's tone and meter, rhythmically expressing the denial, confusion, and eventual black acceptance that the poem calls for.
"The Raven" flows into "The Tell-Tale Heart," in which Poe uses conventions that would be found notably in the writing of King and the greatest film of Hitchcock, Vertigo--he gives away the ending of the story halfway through, but is confident enough that the journey, and not the destination, is the important part of the tale. Iggy Pop, with his slightly frantic voice and its elastic pitch, is perfect as the murderer for whom his own sanity is a subject for protest. Next is "The Conqueror Worm," with which I was completely unfamiliar before I bought this album. Despite my lack of knowledge of the poem, I intensely enjoyed Ken Nordine's performance of it. Nordine's slow, deep voice, aided by music provided by himself, Howard Levy, and Larry Kohutt, provide the album's most purely atmospheric experience. Gavin Friday's "For Annie" approaches the same level of atmosphere, and Diamanda Galás takes her sweet time telling "The Black Cat," but her hoarsely whispering voice ensures that it is a sweet experience indeed. The disc ends with "To Helen," put to music and sung by Ed Sanders . . .
. . . which leads us to the less effective second disc, which opens with another song performed by Sanders, "The Haunted Palace." Poe's language is too intricate to work well put to music, and Sanders pulls it off with only limited success. Less successful is Deborah Harry, accompanied by the Jazz Passengers, who perform "The City and the Sea" to music composed by Roy Nathanson. Nathanson seems to want to turn "City" into a musical journey of some kind, but to my ear, it sounds tonally scattered. Dr. John's conversational take on "Berenice" is an intriguing approach, but I cannot listen to it for more than ten minutes without my mind wandering, and Gabriel Byrne's subdued performance of "The Masque of the Red Death" fails to convey the imagery that is rife in the story. Rounding out the album are "Ulalume" (done by Jeff Buckley) and "Annabel Lee" (Marianne Faithfull again), both solid tracks, and finally a portion of Abel Ferrara's humorous take on "The Raven" which provides an exit to the album that relieves the darkness of its majority. Highly recommended, but you may find ourself spinning the first disc far more than the second.
