As a longtime fan of the originality and creativity of The Residents who had last seen them live in Michigan 25 years ago, I was rather disappointed by the dramatically resitricted range of expression to which the artists who formerly wore eyeballs for heads have confined themselves for this performance. Where once these gingerbread men challenged the most fundamental ideas of melody, harmony, rhythm, and intonation, the former quartet, now appearing as a trio, last night did not venture outside of a limited vocabulary of minor key melodies, straight rhythms, and occasional stock heavy metal guitar riffs that surely had Snakefinger crying softly in his grave. While "Randy, the singer of the Residents" has retained a surprising degree of vocal power, considering how long he has been screaming, crying, croaking like an old woman or lizard, etc., in sutdios and before audiences, this range was not put to powerful effect. Visual imagery, while creative, was insufficient to carry a ninety minute show. Fondly, I say, farewell, ye eyeball men. Carlos was right. The Residents reside now only in my CD and vinyl collection, where they are still loved for what they have done.