Rock 'N' Roll Apocalypse Now                                     [10.13.1998]

By Lyndsey Parker

Vaganza's magnum opus of a debut is a brassy, brazen blast of bombast, every bit as extravagant and decadent as the two Dynasty-meets-Human League, mink-and-sequins-clad Patrick Nagel vamps pictured on its glitzy cover. Excessively epic exercises in high-concept high camp, like the borderline-sobbing melodrama "Wedding Day" ("I'm just sitting in the back room, crying my eyes out on your wedding day/ And when the minister asks, 'Does anyone object?' I'll just bow my head as if it's all okay") and the perverse self-esteem affirmation "Start Liking Yourself" ("When you start liking yourself, there ain't nobody else that can do you"), are as colorful and cartoonish as the album's inner-sleeve photos of Vaganza dandies Quigley and David Longworth Wallingford decked out in garish lamé pimp suits and more facepaint than you'll find at a Max Factor department store counter. And the album's Rocky Horror-esque coda, "Rock 'N' Roll Apocalypse," truly lives up to its lofty title, even going so far as to juxtapose its glammy, cock-rockin' beats with the tender teenage trilling of a 12-year-old girls' choir (how rock 'n' roll is that?).

But it's not all style over substance when it comes to Vaganza, oh no. The swooningly string-laden "Everyday" and Dusty Springfield-worthy "Silly Sally" boast Brill Building choruses catchier (and far more pleasant) than the Plague; the playfully lilting tango/ mambo ditty "Mama's Playing Away" and swanky piano-bar number "Margherita" might be the best inspiration for stepping into a pair of cha-cha heels since John Waters' Female Trouble. Vaganza is so orchestrally over-the-top it's hard to take it too seriously, yet it's so well-done (most of the string and horn players are Julliard graduates; the drummer is one of the best time-keepers in the biz, Joey Waronker of Beck/ R.E.M. fame; and the impressive arrangements by Quigley and Wallingford are slick, snazzy and Spectorian) that its delusions of grandeur are almost believable.

"We are deadly serious in our attempt at silliness," asserts the uni-monikered Quigley, he of the Bozo-red coiff and tongue permanently implanted in heavily-rouged cheek. "It's something we take very seriously; our pursuit of fun is a life goal. This thing is useless to me is if it's not fun! Why the hell play rock 'n' roll if you're not going to have fun doing it?"

Of course, Vaganza are so ostentatious and just plain different, they probably scare off most feeble-hearted/ minded radio programmers and record buyers; to borrow the title of another one of Vaganza's tunes, maybe they're "Too Darn Good."

"We certainly don't do what we do to have everybody love us, because there's still a little bit of the punk rockers in us that likes the fact that we're kind of aggressively obnoxious," Quigley snickers.

He's referring to his teen years in New Jersey's Skunk (which also included Matt Sweeney, now of Matador Records hipster band Chavez, and Claude Coleman, who's been known to play with Ween). "We were just your typical greasy, longhaired white kids listening to Sabbath and Stooges and pouring into a van and that whole bit--that whole thing that got really really big just around the time that I decided to start wearing makeup!"

That was also around the time, about seven years ago, that Quigley met Wallingford, when they were both in a post-Skunk, pre-Vaganza outfit called Astronaut. It was this fateful meeting of the minds that made Quigley's long-contemplated transition from the grubby pre-Nirvana punk of Skunk to the splendiferous fop-pop of Vaganza a reality. "This was more where my head was always heading," stresses Quigley. "It's not like David and I just discovered this music; we grew up listening to all forms of musical theater and all that glam-rock crap. David and I used to always talk about our 'dream band,' what we'd really like to do with music. Finally we thought, 'Maybe we shouldn't just dream about this, or talk about this as if it's something that will never actually happen, and we should actually do it.'"

Naturally, the musical makeover also required a major upgrade in wardrobe. "If we were a bunch of grungy guys in jeans and T-shirts playing the kind of music we play, it just wouldn't work," Quigley reasons. "So we dress wacky--in our fancypants clothes and our makeup and our hair and our what-have-you. As our record contract had specified at one point, in one of the clauses, Vaganza is a '10-piece band with special costume.'"

Wait a minute--did he say 10-piece band? Well, in the studio Vaganza may be the masterwork solely of multi-instrumental duo Quigley and Wallingford--who trade off vocal, guitar, bass, synth and percussion duties--but the onstage Vaganza experience is a decidedly bigger extra-vaganza. Eight additional players--all in "special costume," of course--are employed to make Vaganza's live sound "equivalently huge" to that of their album. Quigley even proudly declares that the live Vaganza is superior to the studio Vaganza. "The biggest criticism I have of our record is it's a bit overworked and overwrought," he says frankly. "I think some people have trouble connecting with it because there's a certain lack of humanity, a certain alienating tone to it. That was not entirely accidental, but live it's all about humanity; in fact, we have 10 humanities onstage! I think the live show is easier to get."

Quigley hopes that the "sheer spectacle" of Vaganza's live show will help win over wary would-be fans, and thus bring the band closer to the ultimate pop-star goal of world domination. Yes, despite his earlier quip about Vaganza's punk-rock obnoxiousness, Quigley shamelessly admits, "We're a pop act--and I mean that in the grander sense of the word, in that our intention is to be popular! We've always prayed that we would be treated as more of a pop band than as a rock band. There is definitely a revival of a pop sensibility going on right now, with your Spice Girls and your Hansons and your what-have-yous; that's much more where we prefer to be placed, because in no way, shape or form could we even vaguely fit in with anything going on in this faceless, generic, post-alternative guitar rock. There's no commercial space for us in that."

There is one "post-alternative" rock group out there, however, with whom Vaganza identify to some extent, and who they hope might open doors for similarly outlandish acts like themselves: Marilyn Manson. "To me, that's just a pure pop thing--over-the-top, goofy, great for kids," says Quigley. "I would never listen to their records, but I'm so glad they exist!"

As for now, a fistful of savvy connoisseurs of pop-and-circumstance are glad that Vaganza exist; hopefully that following will grow as more flamboyant groups overthrow a music scene still currently dominated by what Quigley refers to as "Third Eye 20s."

"The more bands that are doing what we are doing, the happier we'll be," he proclaims with revolutionary zeal. Get ready for rock 'n' roll apocalypse, baby.