R. Weis - The Reaper & Me

A Closer Listen

Where do people go after they die?  Is it possible to communicate with them? R. Weis‘ The Reaper & Me is a discussion of such things, as well as a love letter to loved ones lost during the A.I.D.S. crisis.  Recorded in the mid-90s in New York City, this EP felt too personal to release before now ~ yet it remains relevant, and sounds surprisingly contemporary.

The first thing one notices is the tone.  While one might expect a heartbreaking array of timbres, “Acid & Acrobat” starts the set in jaunty fashion.  The artist admits that the track is “upbeat to disguise feelings of being overwhelmed,” but it mutes the sadness while recalling happier times.  The alliterative title recalls (or prophecies) Weis’ Parrot & Paperback.

Two things are happening at once.  Weis is writing while in a state of abject mourning; and yet he cannot help but be playful.  This seeming contradiction lends the EP an unusual poignancy. Clichéd as the thought may be, most imagine their loved ones hoping to be remembered more in laughter than in tears.  While there are no parrots here (we’re not sure if Congo was around at the time), but there’s a table knife, an aluminum takeout container, and an array of tribal instruments, including rattles, thumb piano and Chokwe xylophone.  The latter reflect an interest in divination, recalling the thought that the ancient gods (even YHWH) could be swayed by music and the scent of a good barbecue.  If they could be reached, might the humans in the unseen spaces be reached as well?

“Message to Charly” is one such attempt, both tribute and plea, like a “classic” letter sent into the abyss in hopes of a response.  In the title track, Weis imagines “a conversation with Death itself,” touching upon dark ambience, receiving an audience, but no answers.  As the percussion ends, a solitary peace descends.  In the closing “Incantation,” Weis skirts around Death to appeal to any other entities who might incline an ear to his supplications.

The most contemporary piece is ironically medieval.  “Backward into 2000” imagines society going backward after the epidemic, a thought that can also be applied to the aftermath of the pandemic.  Do we listen as people are dying?  Do we care when they are not “our own?”  Does overwhelming sorrow produce compassion fatigue, an empathy gap or political indifference?  This perhaps is the greatest sadness of the EP: the jumble of cruelty and political inaction.  But the greatest joy of the EP is that no matter how dour the subject, Weis’ love shines through.  We cannot imagine a single friend, here or there, who would not be amused that a stray cricket, sneaking into Weis’ apartment via a bouquet of flowers, became the source of a composition.  In the comic book world, “Swamp Thing” is a monster who becomes a hero; in The Reaper and Me, Weis spins darkness into light. (Richard Allen)