The Rock-afire Explosion

Robots are creepy. Awesome, but creepy. From Disneyland’s “Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln” to Teddy Ruxpin, there is something deeply unsettling about the automaton’s crude approximation of animal movement and intelligence. This goes doubly for the all animatronic band at Chuck E. Cheese pizza parlors.

I spent an inordinate amount of my childhood staring with grim fascination at Chuck E.’s automated minstrels. My parents probably assumed that I genuinely liked Chuck E. and his robot animal friends, but it was more like gawking at a grisly, blood splattered motorcycle accident; you knew you shouldn’t look, but you just couldn’t turn away.

As I recall, aside from the rat, the band was comprised of a singing chicken, a droopy hound dog and a big fat purple monster thing of indeterminate origin. It was compellingly terrifying. Every time one of the singing robots would move its mouth, turn its heads or even blink, it would make a ridiculously loud whirring, grinding or clacking sound, which merely compounded the sense of alien “otherness.” And the music was awful: limp and hokey adaptations of American rock classics lifted from Elvis Presley and The Beach Boys. But it didn’t really matter. No one came for the music.

During the 1980’s, Chuck E.’s cross-town rival was The Rock-afire Explosion, an arguably superior animatronic band that was a fixture at Showbiz Pizza Place restaurants, a competing franchise that was later bought out and absorbed into the rumbling behemoth of the Chuck E. Cheese corporate empire. For some reason, the robotic technicians hired by Showbiz Pizza were far better at their jobs than those employed by Chuck E. Cheese. As a result, the members of The Rock-afire Explosion had more realistic facial expressions and actually appeared to be playing their instruments in time with the music. It was just a better band. Plus, “Rock-afire Explosion” is a staggeringly cooler name than Chuck E. Cheese’s “Pizza Time Players.” But the music still sucked.

Decades after the break-up of the band, The Rock-afire Explosion has been given a second chance to dazzle and terrify thanks to Chris Thrash, an animatronic hacker of sorts who purchased an old Rock-afire robot set and reprogrammed it to perform contemporary songs. Like Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie.” (They don’t, you know)


Even more stirring is their treatment of The Arcade Fire’s “Neighborhood #1,” which is somehow almost more emotionally devastating than the human performed version:


Or, if you are into over-hyped, neo-psychedelic dance pop, you might enjoy their rendition of MGMT’s “Electric Feel.” “Electric Feel” is a good choice because, you know, robots are electric:


I am simultaneously frightened and impressed.

Here’s a link to a trailer for a new documentary about The Rock-afire Explosion and the humans that love it: Rock-afire Explosion: The Movie