Despite his unassailable stature as a literary giant, modernist trailblazer, and fringe icon, we continue to sell William Burroughs short by the way we remember him. The late author is celebrated for his unparalleled ability to disfigure the language, both via his “cut-up” approach to non-linear narrative flow and also for the unrelenting hideousness of his subject matter. But let’s imagine, by comparison, that Jackson Pollock or John Coltrane had gone down in history solely for the audacious splatter of their technique, rather than the innate grace they brought to those techniques.
In Burroughs’ case, even though he structured several of his key works so that readers can start on any page and work through the text in any order, we shouldn’t ignore his gift for putting words together in the first place. If it weren’t for their underlying lyricism, Burroughs’ harrowing portraits of heroin use and pederasty wouldn’t have the arresting impact that they continue to have more than half a century later. And yet, after all that time, even highly creative artists like composer/instrumentalist Elliott Sharp and actor Steve Buscemi miss the mark. Both of them should know better.
A live performance that took place as part of a month-long celebration of Burroughs’ birthday centennial in 2014, Rub Out the Word will likely satisfy the author’s most avid cheerleaders, but anyone looking for a fresh take should look elsewhere (such as Burroughs’ spoken-word collaborations with the bands Material, the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, and his 1990 album of readings with various artists, Dead City Radio). It’s not that Buscemi and Sharp don’t mean well, or that they don’t bring a great deal of attention to their respective crafts here. They also deserve credit for not fetishizing Burroughs’ most reprehensible qualities (i.e: his unapologetic fascination with guns even after recklessly killing his second wife with one, and his celebrity among junkies as “the pope of dope”). And yet the pair apparently couldn’t resist looking at their subject through a superficial lens.
Rub Out the Word zigzags between the author’s prose and his musings on the art of writing itself. On paper, it would seem as if Sharp chose wisely from the vast body of text that Burroughs left behind, especially where Buscemi recites passages that tease at offering insight into the author’s process. It is in this area that Rub Out the Word fails the most to deliver on its potential. Unfortunately, Buscemi and Sharp fall into the trap of being seduced by the cut-up technique as the defining aspect of Burroughs’ legacy. They even unwittingly ring the death knell for this album right off the bat, when Buscemi reads, “What better way to invoke a writer than to cut and re-arrange his very own words? Like all keys to be used with caution, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” Too true, as this album would've benefitted hugely from a mix of random and structured flow. Sharp, presumably taken by his attraction to chaos theory, copy/pasted Burroughs' texts and ran them through an online word scrambler, an unnecessary step akin to filtering an innovative guitarist's parts through the same effects pedal twice.
Burroughs was capable of keeping readers spellbound through the jagged shifts in his train of thought, but it’s obvious within this album’s first few minutes that the cut-up technique doesn’t have the same verve in spoken form that it does on paper—at least not the way it’s delivered here. As an extended oral work, Rub Out the Word simply lacks coherence. And though Sharp’s eerie background drones complement the more nightmarish passages, what begins as a compelling exercise in texture ultimately falls flat from a lack of sonic variety or buildup. Which leaves the spotlight on Buscemi’s stylized voice, an egregious affectation that the material just didn’t need.
Buscemi actually breathes life into the final track “Taking the Virus” by reading in a rapid-fire, low-pitched whisper that conjures images of an auctioneer making a hushed speech at a funeral. The difference between the vocal technique on this piece and the previous ones is startling. It also shows how much Burroughs’ writing breathes when subjected to new interpretations. Buscemi treats “Taking the Virus” like a script where he has room to invent the narrator’s character, which works wonders. And when Buscemi slows down, he does so with the agility of a seasoned musician. The shift in pacing is revelatory and also creates room for Sharp’s accompaniment to shine through. It’s the one moment where Rub Out the Word has dynamics and dimension. By that point, though, it’s far too late.
