17 of 18 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Mind You'll Want to Meld With by garrie keyman, February 13, 2004
This review is from: Worst Band in the Universe (Hardcover)
Every age has its idiosyncratic vernacular. If I spoke of multi-tasking, for instance, you'll know what I mean. Allow me to introduce you to the Master Multi-tasker, Graeme Base: author, poet, artist, cartoonist, social commentator, musician and all-around madcap hyper-dimensional entity (his term). This, folks, is a mind you'll want to meld with: a veritable Dr. Seuss in hyperspace.
Billed on its eye-catching jacket as a "totally cosmic musical adventure," The Worst Band in the Universe is all that, and more. In a pithy sure-footed poetry, Base introduces us to Sprocc, a thirteen(standard)-year-old member of the Blippian Tribe who, along with his instrument of choice - the Splingtwanger - dares to defy the mandates of the Musical Inquisitor. Sprocc's crime is innovation, for which he is banished to Wastedump B19 after his band is named winner of the bogus Annual Worst Band in the Universe Contest advertising as first prize an all-expense-paid trip to Alpha 10.
On B19 Sprocc meets, among others, Skat, self-proclaimed overseer of the Wastedump and former recipient of the Worst Band in the Universe one-way-ticket to paradise lost. Skat rules since he alone can hold the indigenous flesh-devouring creepers, called Gulpers, at bay -- by hammering ear-splitting chords on his PowerAxe. But all is not lost. Fellow exile, ButtonPusher, a member of the Midimoog Tribe (proficient on all bU.Mff compatible keydevices and associated NrD electro-sonicware) holds a B.S. in SonicEngineering from the University of GalSec14. ButtonPusher turns out to be a bit of an innovator, himself, having drawn up schematics for a ship that sails on song.
Of this notion Base proclaims:
The task was huge, the concept vague, the physics somewhat moot,
But once the seed of hope was sown it gradually took root.
They labored with the flame of freedom burning in their hearts,
A hammer, seven drill bits and an endless source of parts.
And slowly from the rubble grew a glorious creation:
A flimsy pile of rusted junk - the means of their salvation.
You'll never make it fly," said Skat. "And even if you do,
The Gulpers will devour the lot - and take you with it, too!"
Sprocc, disappointed when Skat refuses to join in the scheme to escape, lifts off on F sharp and returns to Blipp in time to witness the Musical Inquistor declare all Tuneful Worlds bereft of moral principles and declare himself Ruler of the Universe. Sprocc interrupts with a slap of the musical gauntlet: A triple-octave mega-riff with whammy bar and feeling. Called on by the Eldest One to reply, The Musical Inquisitor reveals himself devoid of talent and unable to play a chord. Revealed a fraud, this Hard Rock answer to Darth Vader declares war, unleashing the unthinkable: a universally-broadcast numbing flood of drivel Base calls Random-Access-Digi-Drone.
The mindless monotonous noise fells the crowd and incapacitates Sprocc as he tries to respond to the assault with his Splingtwanger before being overcome and slumping against the speaker stacks. Who will save the day? Does Artoo appear secretly housing plans that can be used to destroy the Death Star? No! It is Skat, inspired by and following on the heels of Sprocc, arriving in another ship that sails on sound. But even the mighty PowerAxe proves no match and annihilation looms till:
Then all at once a chord rang out, a clear and ringing tone,
That soared above the blandness of the awful DigiDrone.
All ears turned to the Eldest One: her Splingtwanger had spoken.
The darkness seemed to clear away. The evil spell was broken.
"Arise!" she cried. "The hour has come. Together we must fight.
Let Ancient Song and Innovation finally unite!"
The crowd took up their instruments and rallied to the call -
The Lost Musicians, Blippians, united one and all.
Yes, estrogenic influence is the agent that extinguishes the testosterone-fed fire of war. My sentiments, exactly.
As a homeschooling mom with a poetry-loving nine-year-old learning to play electric guitar, The Worst Band in the Universe struck gold. And talk about building vocabulary. It comes as no surprise that Base is the father of three. His picture on the inside flap calls to mind a sort of down-under Dave Berry-Dana Carvey contemporary. Other works by Base include Animalia, The Eleventh Hour, The Sign of the Seahorse and The Discovery of Dragons.
Base, who refers to his books as "paper/ink/glue composite products for small Earthlings," rounds out this keeper with a music CD of his own - selections from The 18th Annual Worst Band in the Universe Competition, including titles like, Let's Go Back to the Big Bang, by the Omnivores; Planetfall, by The Mesh; and W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G. (What You See Is What You Get) with howl-along lyrics like:
Good to see you here my love, I've missed your bulging eyes
Come a little closer now, I've got you a surprise
It's nothing much - a simple gift to show my love for you
A box of slimy squirtlegreebs in sticky yellow goo
I strongly suspect if Spock would have melded with this mind, his icy Vulcan exterior would have cracked. I know mine did. Now I'm froozled in the head.
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