Taraka and Nimai Larson have an “apocalypse state of mind.” Since 2010, the sisters, under the guise of their band, Prince Rama, have been crafting catchy psych-pop songs about the end of the world. But, for Prince Rama, the end of all things isn’t so bad. In a pop-culture landscape full of films and TV shows about gruesome cataclysms and how unbearable life after your apocalypse of choice will be, Prince Rama’s attitude is a welcome change. As Taraka Larson puts it, “a utopia is not achievable without an apocalypse.” In other words, the end of the world might lead to something better, not worse.
And, if Prince Rama has anything to say about it, the end of the world, and the resulting utopia, will likely be a kick-ass dance party. Their 2012 album, “Top Ten Hits of the End of the World” is a compilation album featuring 10 songs “channeled” from fictional bands who died during the apocalypse. It’s a wild concept and probably the least weird thing Prince Rama has created. They’ve conducted group exorcisms during a performance inspired by 1980s VHS workout tapes (released as “15 Minute Exorcise”), hosted a karaoke session that matched up singles from the Billboard charts with the dates of predicted apocalypses, and produced “Never Forever,” a “psych-opera” that looks like an Alejandro Jodorowski-directed, low-budget Bollywood remake of “Xanadu.”
Prince Rama performs at 3S Artspace in Portsmouth on May 24, where they’ll also be screening “Never Forever.” The Sound recently caught up with Taraka Larson while she and Nimai were on the road to Madison, Wis., about the band’s artistic manifesto, how to channel dead fictional bands, and breaking the barrier between artist and audience.
Can you explain your “Now Age” manifesto? How do those ideas guide you as an artist?
I was in Europe. We were on tour, I think in Paris, and I was having a really difficult time because a lot of the tenants of Hare Krishna philosophy were not making sense to me at the time. I had to, for myself in my journal, be clear about what I believed in, what it is that feels true to me. I kind of unconsciously started writing the “Now Age” manifesto. I realized playing shows and going on tour and making music is this devotional practice. Sound is making up the arch of space, this portal where apocalypse is achieved and truth is revealed and the now is always perfect. I wrote it to organize my own thoughts. Someone approached me and said, “I would really like to publish this.” I thought, “OK, that’s great,” and put together this book and a website. I’m really happy if people read it and it brings something to them. It wasn’t my goal to be proselytize it.
Apocalypses and utopias are a recurring theme in your music and the “Now Age” manifesto. What about them fascinates you?
Honestly, I feel like apocalypses are recurring on a daily basis. I want to live my life that way, every day. … When I’m living my life that way, it’s hard not to have that bleed into the art or the manifestos. It’s not something I think about, it’s something I’m trying to practice, like an apocalypse state of mind, an “apocalypse now” way of being in the present. … Utopia is not achievable without a certain apocalypse. A lot of millenarian movements, all these utopian societies, there had to be this catalyst for paradise to be revealed, and it’s always through the apocalypse. It’s sort of wormhole, the serpent eating its tale that comes out the other side of this paradise.
If you’re trying to look for paradise or live your life in this utopian way, and I don’t mean any sort of escapism, but to feel like utopia is everywhere, like being in this pure space of the present moment, that’s not possible without having some sort of end-of-the-world feeling.
“Never Forever” looks like something you’d find on a worn-out VHS tape at an old video store or thrift shop. How’d you come up with it?
That’s our ultimate life goal, to be in a thrift store dollar bin, so that definitely played into it. I can’t really take much credit for the concept. We were approached by two friends of ours, Tony Lowe and Lily Wahrman, and they wanted to make this movie for us, and we’re like, “OK, that sounds good.” …They asked us at first, in your dream movie, what would you have in there? So we said, “In an ideal dream world, we’d have 12 Abercrombie models on tread mills … a Jacuzzi filled with blood, a zombie dance troupe…” They were just jotting things down and said, “OK, cool.” When it got to be time to film, we were just not really knowing what was going to happen. And, when we showed up on set, there was a zombie dance troupe. … It was insane. … Lily had this astute way of looking at me and Nimai and seeing what was beneath the surface of both of us, these different inner characters of ourselves, and making them come to life.
You “channeled” fictional pop artists on “Top Ten Hits.” How’d that come about?
It’s something you can’t really explain. I came up with this idea, wanting to make this fictional compilation album, so I came up with the blueprint concept of it. But I didn’t realize what I was bargaining for with the universe. Once I put it out there, it just sort of happened, I hadn’t written any songs yet; these songs came to me … as a sort of whole metaphysical object — this layer of sound, this layer of sound, this layer of vision, I could see the band that was giving it to me. I was just like a secretary (recording) it out. It was definitely a really special process. There were definitely a lot of things I can’t explain that were going on there.
You tend to involve audiences in your shows. Why do you think it’s important to drop that barrier between the artist and the audience?
There are three elements that have to be present in a show for that magic to happen. There’s the performer and the audience, and then there’s this synergy between the performer and the audience. That element is not present at (all) shows, but that’s always the element that makes the magic happen. For me, I would feel like our shows are … sort of like this way of making love. That requires two elements (that) makes the third element. … There needs to be this exchange. I never want to feel like we’re just up there performing; that’s just pure masturbation. I’m not into that. There has to be this energy exchange, and so any way to break down that barrier, we’re always seeking to do that.
Prince Rama performs on Sunday, May 24 at 8 p.m. at 3S Artspace, 319 Vaughan St., Portsmouth. Tickets are $10. Visit 3Sarts.org.
Taraka (standing) and Nimai Larson of Prince Rama (photo by Corey Towers)