Ask pop music perfectionist Keigo Oyamada about his band Cornelius' live shows, and he calls them a "musical Disneyland," where multimedia gimmicks break down the traditional barrier between audiences and performers. Several hundred New Yorkers packed into the Bowery Ballroom last night to peer wide-eyed at Asian rock's magic kingdom: four Japanese mop tops clanging out futuristic techno-guitar-pop, with video montages perfectly synchronized to song lyrics and wild theremin solos piercing the air like sirens. Of course, a cameraman was on stage to film every moment.

Oyamada's Disney comparison is right on the money. Catchy rock songs like "Star Fruit Surf Rider" and "New Music Machine" were carefully plotted musical adventures -- Oyamada slammed into his axe Frampton-style, but never got so carried away that he forgot to return to the microphone to whistle a two-note melody over the guitar roar. Drummer Yuko Araki, her hair an Andy Warhol halo atop her bobbing head, executed speedy jungle fills across her tom-toms without ever falling out of time with the ticking drum machine. On the bridge to "Brand New Season," Oyamada ceremoniously chopped at his theremin like TV chef Emeril Lagassi tenderizing a pork loin, emitting the familiar melody to "Love Me Tender" while video of Elvis flickered on the big screen behind him. Then, in a rush of guitar fury, Elvis was gone and the gentle "Brand New Season" was back, Oyamada tra-la-laing the verse in Japanese and chorus in accented English, as he does on many songs.

Cornelius is named for Roddy MacDowell's character in the Planet of the Apes movies, and ape metaphors were ever-present. During instrumental songs, sampled voices shouted "When the ape finally stood up, his hands were free to use weapons!" as on-screen apes lustily did battle, and "We'll do ape-ape show" to a video montage of boxers scoring knockouts. The group pounded out a warm wash of fuzzy rock during these moments, and when Oyamada shouted "four" or "two" or "four" again, his bandmates responded with the appropriate number of guitar lashes, perhaps the only bit of improvisation of their show.

By the time Cornelius returned to the stage for their second encore, they'd made a strong case for seamlessly blending such electronic devices with live, sweaty rock & roll. As the four mop tops appropriately dashed off a Beatles homage called "Chapter 8 -- Seashore and Horizon," rife with three-part harmonies and glorious key changes, you could feel pop's past merging into its widening horizons -- Eastern, electronic and Disneyfied.

RODD MCLEOD
(November 10, 1998)