Animal Lover(2005)OverviewTracksLyricsStoriesPress Release
In 2001 The Residents had begun to develop their follow-up album to Wormwood (1998). At the same time the group had become interested in the newly emerging medium of DVD and were well into preparation of Icky Flix as a showcase for their video work; consequently progress on the then unnamed Animal Lover was slow. But even as The Residents turned their DVD release into the Icky Flix tour (2001), questions persisted regarding the tone and nature of the new album: a not uncharacteristic difference in opinion existed over the direction of the piece, with some favoring an album based on the American Civil War, musically reflecting an undertone of Stephen Foster, while others favored a more absurdist approach, not unlike the previously successful Duck Stab. Consequently, a lack of clarity enveloped and paralyzed the project.
Meanwhile The Residents were in Europe touring Icky Flix when the unthinkable happened: masterminded by a fanatic living in a cave in Afghanistan, the World Trade Center was burned to the ground. Vulnerable and thousands of miles from home, the group considered ending the tour but ultimately decided to stick it out. While continuing to perform in Europe for two more weeks, The Residents used that time, propelled by their fragile emotional state, to develop a new series of songs, ultimately becoming the Demons Dance Alone album (2002).
In contrast to the undefined and dangling Animal Lover, Demons Dance Alone possessed an immediate and clear direction, but the earlier project was not abandoned. Carefully preserving their work for some undefined point in the future, The Residents archived the unfinished Animal Lover, then threw themselves into the recording of Demons Dance Alone, immediately following the album's release with a Demons' tour.
When that tour ended in 2003, the group was uncertain regarding its next project. An obvious path of least resistance led them back to Animal Lover but, while much compelling music had been recorded, a fresh approach was desperately needed. Still resonating from the Trade Center bombings and the ensuing war, two radical ideas emerged. The first concept confronted the album's obviously divergent musical direction while the other idea dealt with the undefined nature of its lyrics. Ultimately, the solution to reconciling the decidedly different arrangements was to cut them together like editing film, allowing the music to be seen from different sides. Then, reflecting a certain distance from a humanity floundering in a fit of self destruction, The Residents decided to write lyrics from the puzzled perspective of an Animal Kingdom baffled by the arrogance and stupidity of the planet's self anointed masters. At that point the album finally found its long illusive unity.
Animal Lover was finished in the summer of 2005 and released the following fall by Mute.
- On The Way (to Oklahoma)
- Olive and Gray
- What Have My Chickens Done Now?
- Two Lips
- Mr. Bee's Bumble
- Inner Space
- Dead Men
- My Window
- Ingrid's Oily Tongue
- Mother No More
- Dreaming of an Anthill (Teeming)
- Elmer's Song
- The Monkey Man
- The Whispering Boys
- Burn My Bones
Expand allOn the Way to Oklahoma
On the way to Oklahoma, I turned into a cat
My true love was a Tiger, I'm sure you can see that
I called the tiger Dolly, it was my mother's name
On the way to Oklahoma you finally became sane
On the way to Oklahoma, a voice inside my mind
Demanding that my senses expanded space and time
The voice revealed a feeling of heated ecstasy
On the way to Oklahoma, I peed upon a tree
On the way to Oklahoma, I needed to eat meat
So I attacked a dog who was sleeping in the heat
While eating in the sunshine a pleasant thing occurred
On the way to Oklahoma I licked myself and purred
(chorus)
On the way to Oklahoma, his split became complete
Reality had faded, his fantasy complete
The world he had constructed, from felines and despair
On the way to Oklahoma, became as clear as air
Olive and Gray
He wasn't dreaming,
When he started screaming
"He touched my penis,
And it went away"
Removing his pants, he
Held in his hand, the
Shriveled up gland, he
Said was a fake
"He silently traded
Mine for this hated
Lump that is shaded
Olive and gray"
Pointing his finger
Right at the stranger
He said that the danger
Will escalate
Unless we kill it
Torture and spill its
Blood without guilt, it
Won't go away
The stranger was shocked when
Rocks began flocking
Around him knocking
His senses away
Like a mad hound he
Was pounded and pounded
'Til he was dead
What Have My Chickens Done Now?
Old Woman:
What have my chickens done now
Young Girl:
She took a mouse out of a pouch
And made me put it in my mouth
5 Sisters:
We call out her name
And beg for a shaming
Young Girl:
She made me spit and shake and scream
She made me make myself unclean
Old Woman:
She calls out my name
But I'm not to blame, but
Maybe my chickens know how
Old Woman:
I don't know why she told on me
I'm sick and sad and eighty three
Young Girl
I knew when I named her
The devil had claimed her
Old Woman:
It must be my chickens somehow
They accused my daughter and
Scratched her on the face and hand
They bite their tongues and bear their teeth
Then they scratch me til I bleed
5 Sisters:
As long as she remains
We will keep her in pain
I know her chickens are foul
Old Woman:
I know I'm not to blame
But I'm tired of the bloodstains
I have to find a way out
Under stress I did confess
Just to make them stop, I guess
What can my chickens do now?
5 Sisters:
We knew if named her
God would not claim her
Old Woman:
My pain was in vain
For they were all against me
5 Sisters:
Around her neck they tied a noose
And they killed her family, too
Young Girl:
Only her chickens know now
Two Lips
Oh, we have to buy a tulip
Yes, we have to buy a tulip
Oh, we have to buy a tulip
So we'll sell our home
We will sell our clothes
And we'll sell our shoes
Everything we own
We'll sell to you
My doctor bought a tulip
And my banker bought a tulip
And my lawyer bought a tulip
So I'll buy one, too
Maybe I'll buy ten
Maybe I'll buy more
All my friends scored
Tulips galore
YES! WE HAVE TO BUY!
NO! WE DON'T KNOW WHY!
YES! WE'LL BUY OR DIE!
YES! WE HAVE TO BUY!
NO! WE DON'T KNOW WHY!
YES! WE'LL BUY OR DIE!
NO! WE DON'T KNOW WHY!
YES! WE'LL BUY OR DIE!
Would you like to buy a tulip?
Would you like to buy a tulip?
Would you like to buy a tulip?
You can pick and choose
I have sold my wife
And my children, too
I have nothing but tulips to lose
YES! WE HAVE TO BUY!
NO! WE DON'T KNOW WHY!
YES! WE'LL BUY OR DIE!
Mr. Bee's Bumble
(Instrumental)
Inner Space
When I think about my father
I see a silver ship
Sailing on the oceans of nirvana
When I think about my father
On his sad and lonely trip
I wonder if he misses me and mama
When I think about my father
I see someone who's sick
Of breathing life into a lost persona
When I went to see my father
I was his only friend
No one knew he was a lonely soldier
When I went to see my father
He was bitter at the end
When the wind was a blowing so much bolder
I went to see my father
Who was dying to pretend
The emptiness of like would soon be full of him
I went to see my father growing colder
Dead Men
Dead men are staring up at angels
Dead men are staring at the ground
Dead men have little inspiration
Dead men just like to lie around
Dead men were reaching out to glory
But nothingness is all they found
Heroes always go to heaven
Heroes never die in vain
Heroes always speak the truth and
Heroes never explain
Dead men are only in the way
Dead men are only in the way
Dead men are only in the way
Dead men are only in the way
My Window
Steven said little Ted was dead
I read in a letter today
The same for Monica's monkey he said
Quietly it passed away
Mister Coo Coo has fallen asleep
His eyes were black and his beak was brown
Mister Coo Coo has fallen asleep
But soon his home will be underground
The wind was cold and the world was old
When I went to my window today
The sky was dark as a hopeless heart
When I went to my window today
Ingrid's Oily Tongue
(Instrumental)
Mother No More
I will never hear you in the morning, no
I will never hear your voice again
You will never say that you love the little cakes
That I bake so early in the morning, no
I will never hear it again
She'll never hear him in the evening, no,
She will never hear his voice again
He will never say "It's my favorite time of day,"
When the sun is setting in the evening, no,
She will never hear it again
But I know I'll hear you when it's late at night
And you're sleeping in your room again
You will dream of the faraway wickedness of war
And I'll hear you sobbing after midnight, no,
You will not say "mother" again
No, you won't say "mother" again
Dreaming of an Anthill (Teeming)
(Instrumental)
Elmer's Song
Leave your burdens behind
Leave your burdens behind
Let your spirit be
Free from gravity
Leave your burdens behind
God is waiting for you
God is waiting for you
There's no need to be
In uncertainty
God is waiting for you
Once I was exactly like you
An empty vessel on full view
I thought that there was no other way
I thought the thoughts you think today
My wife was sinister and unclean
My children were morose and mean
My discontentment was so complete
My mind retreated into sleep
Love will live in repose
Love will live in repose
Let your leisure zone
Be your cornerstone
Love will live in repose
But soon a voice inside of a dream
Said "Son you can become My Cream,"
With words that echoed in me God said
"White people should remain in bed."
Take a load off your feet
Take a load off your feet
Turn your misery
Into ecstasy
Take a load off your feet
We will give it to you
We will give it to you
Sleep is purified
Sweet and sanctified
So we'll give it to you
The Monkey Man
I see him when I'm dreaming
His teeth are white and bare
He's riding on a stallion
The wind is in his hair
If he were made of china
He's have a special stand
Beside my china ponies
I love the monkey man
I wake up every morning
And smell his golden hair
He stands outside my window
And watches me with care
He smiles at all my ponies
And dances when he can
I'll look for him tomorrow
I love the monkey man
Monkey Man
Monkey Man
Monkey Man
Monkey Man
The Whispering Boys
The Whispering boys will not go away
The Whispering boys have nothing to say
But they scream and they cry
And they run and they hide
From their bodies
The Whispering Boys have answered the call
The Whispering Boys surrender their all
To the blame and the blood
Of an albino dove
Made of love
The Whispering Boys are perfect and pure
The Whispering Boys are sacred and sure
And sometimes they are known
To take children whose homes
Are unknown
The Whispering Boys, they stay out of sight
The Whispering Boys, they meet late at night
But they bond to their fate
And they're saved when they
Self mutilate
Burn My Bones
Sleeping deeply in the blood
It turns my memories to mud
And gnaws inside me like a dog
Whose leg is caught beneath a log
It eats itself until it's free
But I'll eat them instead of me
HUNGER! ANGER!
HUNGER! ANGER!
HUNGER! ANGER!
HUNGER! ANGER!
PLEASE SOMEBODY! BURN MY BONES!
PLEASE SOMEBODY! BURN MY BONES!
PLEASE SOMEBODY! BURN MY BONES!
And leave the ashes in the snow
Expand allTHE TIGER
The tiger noticed the man. Usually, she paid little attention to the humans outside her cage, but this man was different.
For the others, the tiger was only one stop in an idle, meandering tour - a minor distraction in the lives of bored humans, staring at bored animals. But the man did more than look. He did more than stare. He burned. It was as if the tiger was the only other being inhabiting his world, and the secret sum of his being was solely reserved for her. How could she not notice.
He was there every day, immediately after the zoo opened. Always in the same spot, leaning against the outer fence, peering intently between the bars. But omnipresence has weird way of becoming wallpaper, and soon his sight faded into the fringes of the cat's consciousness. Maybe the man sensed that he was losing her attention, or maybe the rhythm of his unseen passion reached a new plateau, or maybe he just snapped, but one night everything changed.
The zoo had closed several hours earlier and the tiger was sleeping when she heard an odd noise - a scratching, scrambling sound, accompanied by grunts and groans. Curious, she rose from her bedding and gravitated towards the noise, somewhere near the front of the cage. Immediately she recognized the man, and immediately she knew something was wrong. He had climbed the outer fence, he had blood on his hands and mouth, and he was bringing something to her.
The man's brazen entrance unnerved the big cat and, awkwardly, she backed into a corner, intently watching his approach. Smiling strangely, the human reached out and pushed something towards her. Something that looked like a stringy, dirty and fur covered piece of meat - and smelled like a dog. Suddenly, the lights came on and several more men appeared, screaming and shouting at the shocked dog meat man. Surprised, he dropped his present and tried to run, but he was caught and quickly taken away. He never returned.
No human had ever offered dog meat to the tiger before. In a funny way she missed him.
THE DOG
It was a hot day - like the day before and the day before that, as far back as the dog could remember. But, if the pounding oppression of dog days was not enough, the milk of human kindness always seemed to sour with the rising heat. Early in the morning the dog could usually beg a few scraps of food, and always in the evening, when the cool breeze had taken the edge away from the afternoon's long and relentless roast. But during the middle of the day, he knew his place. The kicking feet, screaming voices and rocks thrown in his direction had delivered their message too many times. The cur was a street dog, and street dogs always avoid shuffling feet and rising tempers when the sun turns asphalt into black butter.
But today was different. Despite a feeling that the crowd was even more aggressive and restless than usual, the dog was still attracted to its odd and manic energy. The street was alive with tension ...tension he should be avoiding, but still, it grabbed and pulled him, compelling the dog right to the edge of a nasty and jeering mob. Two men were in the center: one cowering into a corner and the other angrily pointing at him. Curiously enough, the angry man would point, then grab his crotch, then point again, shouting louder and louder each time. Growing increasingly hostile, he suddenly threw a rock at the fallen man, then another and another.
Quickly the fever of destruction infected the entire crowd and the air exploded into stones, relentlessly pounding one particular spot into a pupal and no longer protesting pulp. When the first rock arrived, the man had screamed and, empathetically, the dog howled along with him. But now, as the scene suddenly became still, and the crowd nervously looked around, the little mutt decided it was time to find a hole, and crawl in.
At least this time it wasn't him.
THE CHICKENS
Chickens don't like children. After all, who likes to be chased by creatures ten times larger than themselves ...and children do love to chase chickens. Not only was the neighbor's child no exception, the little girl's relentless pursuit of poultry often bordered on diabolical. Simply the sight of her approaching the small barnyard easily agitated the flock for hours. They hated her.
At first, the feeder, an old woman, sent the little girl home, seemingly returning peace to the barnyard. But the child was relentless, and soon turned her attention to the old woman. With a feeling of disbelief, the chickens watched as the little girl threw herself into the middle of the flock, and fell to the ground, kicking, screaming, and convulsing until she passed out. Shocked, the old woman stared in amazement, then quickly called the young girl's parents. Awakening upon their arrival, the child sat straight up, pointed at the old woman and screamed.
The following day the unsuspecting flock found itself again invaded by the neighboring child, this time accompanied by her four older sisters. Surrounded by the dumbfounded woman and her equally confused chickens, the barnyard teemed with the sight of rolling bodies, thrashing arms and twitching legs, as the five girls proceeded to reenact the previous day's scene. And again, upon returning to consciousness, the sisters all pointed at the astonished old woman.
Soon more humans arrived, but, to the flock's great relief, the crowd directed the full brunt of its attention toward the pathetic and befuddled old woman. Accusation mounted upon accusation, building tension until, in a sudden move, the smallest child reached over and scratched the old woman. With blood dripping down her arm and shouts ringing in her ears, the crone could think of nothing to do but nod her head, and hope they would all go away. And they did, taking the old woman with them and leaving the hungry chickens with nothing to eat.
They know it's the little girl's fault. They're vicious chickens and they're out to get her.
THE ANT
The ant liked the man. He was a hard worker and ants appreciate hard work. When the human first arrived, the anthill was at the edge of a small forest, but soon the trees were removed and shortly afterwards the man built and occupied a large and stately home, not far from his unknown neighbors, the ants. And, with the building of a stable, a guest house and servants' quarters, his industry continued. Occasionally the ant paused to watch as the man, arrogant and successful, entertained guests on the sunlit expanse of his grass covered lawn, proudly displaying his children and attractive young wife. But beyond the lawn and its surrounding flower beds, the ant knew nothing of the human's existence. The small creature had no idea what went on inside the big house, or how the man earned his income, or what he ate for dinner, but the tiny animal easily recognized the acrid odor of change, and the odor was in the air.
The man's children, who often spent entire days running and playing on the lush and exquisite lawn, had disappeared. His wife, who quietly stood at the side of her rich and successful husband, entertaining his prosperous friends, had also vanished. As had the servants, the horses, the dogs, cats and everyone who had occupied the small estate - except the man. And lately he always seemed to be outside, staring at his flowers. His tulips. The pride of his life and the envy of his peers. But lately there weren't any parties. And no friends. Just tulips.
The ant didn't understand flowers. They were all right to look at, but were obviously worthless in terms of food or shelter. And the man no longer seemed to care about anything else.
"Oh well, it's time to go back to work," thought the ant.
THE MOUSE
The mouse was excited. It was almost time for the young woman to visit her again. The little animal wondered what kind of treat she would get today. Most humans think mice like cheese, but the young woman knew better. Yesterday she brought a tasty tidbit of bacon! Yummy! What a nice human.
But the little mouse was also confused. She really didn't understand why the young woman came to this place every day just to visit her. And why was she so nice when all the other humans screamed and threw things at the tiny animal, quickly darting around the dark corners of the large room. The building was full of beds, with lots of places to hide, but the mouse had to be careful. For some reason, humans didn't seem to like mice, and that was hard to understand, too. Except for the young woman.
Every day she came and sat in same place. Sometimes she held the hand of the man lying on the bed beside her, but they never spoke or smiled or even looked at each other. Soon she would put his hand down, pick up her purse and pull out a treat.
It was so exciting.
THE OWL
The stark white owl was a striking figure, silently floating through the midnight air. The day had seen a vicious battle surging across the flat plain, but now it was night and the battle was over - only the dead remained. The men had entered the battle carrying food and supplies, but now everything - bodies, food packets and weapons - were randomly scattered, like fallen leaves, deliberately disrupting the order of open space ...but also attracting mice. The owl had no use for the inedible chunks of refuse the humans referred to as food, but the mice loved it. And the owl loved mice.
Occasionally, the wise owl noted to herself, random forces aligned in unpredictable ways, creating equally unexpected beauty and perfection as a byproduct of their seemingly chaotic intersection. Unfortunately this was not one of those times. Whenever she spotted a mouse and swooped down for the kill, the small rodent escaped, quickly hiding itself beneath a human's fallen body.
Dead men are only in the way.
THE PIGEON
The pigeon was nervous. Some would say nervousness is the primary currency of a pigeon's internal existence, but even so, the bird was more than normally twitchy ...perhaps even extraordinarily twitchy.
It had everything to do with the human. The man was also nervous and this was not his normal state. Here he comes again. He's coming, he's coming ...no he walked on past. He was pacing, grumbling, sighing, staring at the sky ...and looking at the pigeon ...a lot.
Then there were the other pigeons. All of his friends and family. And one by one, they disappeared. He was coming again ...two steps ...three steps ...FOUR! ...no he's just getting his cup of tea. It wasn't the first time his friends had left. The human often took his favorite birds away for races or breeding. It had happened to the pigeon many times in the past, but the human never took them all, and they always returned.
And what about the dog ...and the evil cat. They were gone, too. Even the two lovebirds, no longer twittering in their cage by the window. The pigeon was the only one left ...him and the man. This was not good ...not good at all.
It all started when the mailman brought that letter ...and the human turned on his radio ...and made some phone calls. Here he comes again ...but this time he is getting closer ...this time he's holding out his hands ...this time ...this time he's...
THE CAT
LIFE SUCKS! thought the cat, waking up from nap number nine. The proud feline casually strolled over to her food bowl, nibbled a bit and contemplated her dilemma.
True, the boy was back. The boy who always fed her. The boy who gave her treats. The boy who once stuffed catnip into a sock and drug it around the house, playing with her for hours. But best of all, he was THE HANDS. Perfect hands, hands that knew every special spot - on her tummy, under her chin, behind her ears.
The cat was sad for weeks after he went away. Oh, the old woman was all right, an adequate feeder to be sure, but hers were the hands of a bricklayer - hard and boney with sharp fingernails. To her credit, the old woman tried, but the cat would rather be petted by a porcupine. No one was THE BOY.
And now he's not the boy any more either. A little bigger, perhaps, but that's not it - it's the frozen face, the empty eyes, the silent voice. He never speaks a word. Never. No more kitty, kitty, kitty. And since he no longer actually feeds the cat, maybe that doesn't matter ...but then ...but then ...his hands. All he does is sit around, for hours in the same spot, staring at his hands ...lingering over the remnants of glory ...treasure turned into trash. Hrumph, snorted the cat, laying down for nap number ten.
The old woman was sad when he left, now she's sad that he's back. But the cat knows it's time to move on. Cats have important things to do.
THE CHIMPANZEE
The chimp missed her mother. She was just a baby when the big white man took her away, and the memory of her mom and her mother's sweet embrace still touched the chimp every day. Over time the soul of the small, timid animal had tried to repair itself, but the hole was still there - black and deep. A hole that the big white man tried to fill, but no human was that big.
She was special. She knew that. No other chimpanzees rode in the back seat of large, expensive automobiles. No other chimps slept under silk sheets, or had bananas and hot chocolate served to them in bed every morning. She was indeed special. But not special enough to fill the hole.
The chimp went everywhere with the the big, white human in his big white car. Except for the chimp, it seemed like everything in the human's world was very large and very white. Especially the big white building. They went there almost every day, and once a week, the building was filled with white humans, all lying on beds and all listening to the big white man. He obviously had important things to say.
But the odd thing about the human was that, except for the little chimp and his servants, the man lived alone. Just like her. Late at night, when they were by themselves, he often seemed a little sad and said, "Betty, love is a musical box of rocks, and I'm tone deaf."
The chimp had no idea what the big white man meant, but she understood the meaning of his sighs.
THE MONKEY MAN
The monkey man is never there. The monkey man is everywhere. But usually the monkey man is right outside the old woman's window. He shelters her. He protects her. He gives her something to believe in.
Other people say bad things about the monkey man. They say he killed a woman two days ago. Last week, they say, a man fell from his roof trying to escape from the monkey man. Large groups of people carrying torches roam the streets at night, searching for the monkey man.
And maybe it's all true, but the monkey man holds a special place in the old woman's heart, and he has one for her. She senses his essence and senses his center - soft, sweet, and silent. Like any wise being, the monkey man knows the hollow nothingness of words, seeing them for what they are - a pathetic and feeble attempt to label life, a farce for fools afraid of living. So he speaks with his eyes. Knowing eyes, giving eyes, all seeing and often sad eyes.
Living alone is a lonely life, unless you have a monkey man.
THE BAT
Like all the others of his species, the bat was a creature of the night. The evening air was calm and peaceful, with the remnants of human life existing mainly as a dim series of flickers, softly glowing through the windows of their homes. But the humans themselves were seldom seen, and the ones who were outside at night, late at night, usually built fires in the forests where the bats silently darted between the dark trees. And the fires attracted insects. And the insects brought the bat.
The small flying mammal found one group of humans to be especially fascinating. They were always out late, always absorbed in a world of unknown behavior and always lit by the largest flames. The men used the fire to heat metal, metal that, once it began to glow, became the means of marking their flesh, of becoming special - something apart from the other humans. The bat could easily sense the pain rising out of the sound and smell of hot metal sinking into skin, but he could sense something else, too. Something deeper and stronger. In an odd way, the little animal was envious - if only he could experience such exquisite sensation.
The bat had little use for humans. Their lives were mainly made of clutter and noise. But these humans were different. They were night people. His kind of humans.
THE WOLF
The wolf was cold and hungry. He had followed the man for hours ...waiting, waiting, for just the right time. Waiting for a moment of weakness. Waiting for an opening. Not that the man presented much of a threat ...or much of a meal. But now something strange was happening. Standing still and staring up at the night sky, the man abruptly began to howl, in a most disturbing way. Maybe this was not a meal to consider.
The wolf had seen the man and smelled his scent around the forest for some time. He knew that the human lived with his two sisters in a small shelter not far away. He also knew that this winter was longer and colder than most, and food was nowhere to be found.
Turning his attention back to the man, the wolf noticed that howling seemed to swell in intensity. Gradually a feeling of discomfort crept up the animal's legs, slithered across his back and slowly oozed into his chest. The feeling seized his throat and squeezed it tight. Feeling more and more uncomfortable, the animal told itself to run. Flee. Get away from the howling man. The man who now seemed to be glowing a white hot and impossibly bright light. The light of hunger mixed with fear, the light that illuminates the black pit of despair and makes anything possible. Makes anything desirable. Makes anything real.
Suddenly the man began to move. Quickly, silently, purposefully, towards the small shelter just over the hill. Transfixed, the wolf followed. And watched as the man quietly entered his home. Again the man howled, shaking the wolf's soul as he heard a no longer human wail mixing and blending into the sound of several horrified screams.
No, thought the wolf, this was not a meal to consider.
"Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate in their object-relations." -- Sigmund Freud
When Charles Darwin first proposed in the late 1800's that homo sapiens had evolved from and were in fact a species of animal, many humans were horrified. Humans had an unusual need to feel superior, something their fellow animal associates had never quite understood. When Sigmund Freud a few years later destroyed the accepted opposition between sanity and madness by locating "normality" on a sliding scale, the poor humans were even more shocked. Taking a step beyond Darwin, Freud believed that the human was an animal in conflict, and informing the human of that very simple concept seemed to only increase the conflict.
In The Residents' Animal Lover, the creatures who don't really mind if they are animals take an existential look at the upright animal whose normality is sliding toward the wrong end of the spectrum. The human beasts live in a world of primal darkness, their heads forever stuck in the ground like frightened ostriches living in a constant murky dream state.
In creating this picture book of animal tales, The Residents wanted to include a soundtrack that related directly to "animal love." The result is an imaginative CD whose rhythm tracks are based entirely on animal noise mating patterns generated primarily by cicadas and frogs. Also the actual sounds of mating whales and humans were used for longer tonal passages. They weren't mating with each other, by the way.
So the world is filled with tubular entities. Food goes in one end and shit comes out the other. Sperm goes in one hole, babies come out another. It's all we've got. That and love.