“No people. Fragments and echoes of real people, original and unbroken. The performance was like a dialect, a branch of its original language, an abridgement of it, but not a distortion or even a reduction of its epic scale.” – Derek Walcott, Nobel Lecture, 1992
"Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative." --David Johansen, Sirius/XM Mansion of Fun program, October 2, 2011
I drove through the rain and mist of full autumn, north from Boston, across the White Mountains and into the heart of the Greens. The fireworks that are the changing leaves were muted by the clouds that dropped low on an early Sunday afternoon; my engine growled through its gears as we crested the growing hills, leaving behind the busy city. The solid strum of the acoustic in the Kinks’ “Death of A Clown” radiated against the dull rhythm of the windshield wipers. The city and the night behind me had contained over four hours of performance by They Might Be Giants—John Linnell, John Flansburgh,drummer Marty Beller, bassist Dan Weinkauf, and guitarist Dan Miller—at Berklee Performing Arts Center in downtown Boston, so no matter my drowsiness, my ears were prepared for anything: inside the beats of the windshield wipers, the strum of the Kinks’ guitar, and the gentle colors of transition that drape the mountains in fall, I heard a new music, one I had been made ready for.
At 6:30 on Saturday night, the line to enter the theater nearly circled the theater, weaving along the wet sidewalks of autumn in Boston,where every night is College Night, and the maze of streets, circles, bridges is still a complex modern pleasure: a place where one can still get lost or turned-around. We—Berklee students, couples young and yuppie, hipsters and the moderately-freakily-clad—stood around in faint rain and wondered about the proposed 7 PM showtime. The problem was confusion in the entryway, and what seemed to be futile attempts by a man in a suit to sort people based on their ticket type; one might expect a more efficient system in place at a school that’s focused on the liberal arts (no problems in the second, apparently-not-sold-out show)!
The band has been following an exhaustive schedule in support of their new album since June, one that has included much media interaction,interviews in magazines and television, YouTube postings and Facebook updates, and,on the day before this night of double shows in Boston, a big NPR interview during the day and a show at Philadelphia’s TLA that night. Since June they had played three free concerts(Boston, Brooklyn, and the tour kickoff in Toronto), two nights in London, and a tear through the northeast and Midwest (from the Stone Pony in New Jersey,north through New England, across New York state to Rochester, before Ohio,Chicago, as far south and west as Tulsa and Nashville, before coming northagain). The tour started two days before the release of Join Us, their firstadult release since 2007: it became available as a download one day prior toits release as a CD and vinyl record. If one uses first-week sales as anyindication of success, this album is the avant-garde pair of Johns’ mostsuccessful recording to date: it showed up on the Billboard charts at #32,selling 13,000 units (Trust, 2011).
According to band lore compiled at They Might Be A Wiki, atleast eight of the songs on Join Us have been around for a few years. Thespit-shine of the Giants’ recording studio may have taken a while, but they actlike seasoned professionals at rolling out new forms of media: the release of musicvideos (including one featuring Rip Torn) on YouTube has included a full studioperformance of one of the new album’s most complex works, “Cloisonné.” So thetour kicked off, in summer sweat, and rolled on through to the autumn’s leaves,and October first: there had been only two nights without shows betweenSeptember 8th and this night at Berklee, though one show a few daysprior was cancelled due to illness among a band member’s family. The bandemerged from behind the tall black curtains that flank the narrow stage ofBerklee’s grand hall, and were not weary, but startling, startled themselves bythe epic narrative of music promotion and production that had consumed theirdays, since June.
The artistic vision of John Linnell and John Flansburgh isbuilt of these echoes, in constant exploration of the limits of a given form—anexhaustive tour schedule is one example. The first show opened with a dramaticvocal mosh of the drawn-out words “The Alphabet of Nations,” and into thekickoff number. The sound system was thunderous in the best way possible,making distinct Marty’s kick drum from all of Dan Weinkauf’s intricacies: thefirst show was fully his moment, in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen. Thedrum kit was on a platform on stage left; everyone in the band could see Marty ashe grinned and filled, kicking off many tunes. After “Alphabet,” a startledFlansburgh said hello to the audience and immediately confessed that hisbeloved green Strat “hit the deck” just moments before the show (“I’m surprisedyou didn’t hear it,” added Linnell); apparently, it was unusable, which was ashame, because he had certainly grown accustomed to its nuance and abilities,achieving all sorts of wild screaming and odd sounds through facing his tweedamps and letting the feedback rip. He sported a weird a bigger red guitar, withmassive white pickups; it never seemed loud enough. For the second show, Flansswitched to a beautiful red hollow body guitar, which he seemed to enjoy muchmore.
The procession of TMBG’s catalog was not presentedalphabetically across the two shows, and in fact the band took the dual-showtask at hand to present a similar experience to both audiences. Crowdpleasersincluding “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” and “Dr Worm” appeared twice, as didwhat Flans called “They Might Be Giants’ National Anthem,” theget-to-your-feet-and-flood-the-aisles number, “Clap Your Hands.” The first showheld seven songs from Join Us; the second show only a few. The first show proceeded well through “Celebration,”during which Dan Miller and Dan Weinkauf joked with each other about singing thebackground vocal parts; “Ana Ng” included some surprising piano riffs fromLinnell; Dan Miller removed his earpiece to better hear the band during hisfirst careful and expressive solo—a night of good spirits and smiles. The mostfragmentary of songs, “Fingertips,” appeared early in the first show: by the “darkenedcorridors” segment, one could tell Marty Beller’s drum set was getting a fullthrash-rock beating; I suspect the band was able to hear themselves and each other’splaying with an uncommon and heightened accuracy, which led to new platforms ofindividual musicianship. Flansburgh bantered with the audience, made a jokeabout Berklee’s reputation to maintain a vibrant environment of music educationand production but to produce few actual graduates, and described theperformance hall as “brutalist… modernist,” so beautiful and acousticallyperfect that “it doesn’t even need us.” The song “Drink” was the night’s firstsingalong, before they played two cuts from their 2009 CD/DVD release “VenueSongs,” including their tribute to Asbury Park’s famous club, The Stone Pony. Thisjazzy riff was Dan Weinkauf’s spotlight, running through scales smoothly as theJohns shouted their percussive tale of a spilled beer, and Marty beat up on theskins and cymbals. If this was good, Weinkauf’s bass slides in the buildingfinal choruses of “The Mesopotamians” were amazing. A pair of songs from theirlatest release—“When Will You Die” and “Cloisonné”—came before the introductionof longtime Giants friend and Connecticut trumpeter Curt Ramm. The Avatars ofThey, the sock puppets that appear in giant size via video camera and projectorscreen, were laughably joined by the small paper face of Meg Ryan, cut out of amagazine. After much banter about corporate sponsorship, including a fullimprovised jingle for “Epic Fail Baloney Sandwiches,” the Avatars introducedthe next song as being from the new album. But, Curt Ramm and the band may havepulled a fast one on Linnell and Flansburgh, who hid behind the kick drum uponwhich the video camera was mounted:instead of “Spoiler Alert,” the usual song performed by the Avatars, Ramm andthe band began the playful melody of “In the Middle,” a song from their firstkids’ album. Ever onward; they made no mention of the flub. The song was givenfull Muppet-like treatment; perhaps it was meant for the second show (whereagain, the sock puppets sang only “Spoiler Alert”).
In the first show, as the crowd filed down and filled thearea in front of the stage, Flans announced a dance contest, with prizes: fourselections of vinyl, including George Benson’s “The Other Side of Abbey Road,”a Ted Nugent album, a signed copy of the Giants’ new release, and the one thatgrabbed Flans’ attention most, a duet between Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer—hometownproud. The first show wore on, and Flans finished his onstage coffee in timefor the first of two battles between the Apes and the People. Using ahigh-powered handheld spotlight, Flans shined a light down the theater anddivided the crowd; fists were thrown in the air as two bands dueled onstage. Inthe first show, the people won; in the second, an unprecedented victory by the Apeswas led by Flans, Linnell on accordion, and Ramm, wailing away on his silverhorn. The battles were ever atonal and spastic; Dan Miller seemed to bedeveloping a routine on the toms that complemented a driving, complex beat fromMarty. Through three encores in the first show, They Might Be Giants sought thebig grand sound that comes after months of practice, before an audience: “CarefulWhat You Pack” is more of a likeable song than ever; “The Guitar” gave allaspiring and electrified undergraduate noodlers a pop-inflected melody tostrive for; by the time the band wailed on the final notes of the third encore ("Damn Good Times") to monstrous adoration and applause as a third encore to the first show, my friend and I were out on the street, needing air and reprieve: the music between shows was the hiss and rumble of the busyBoston streets on a Saturday night: of distant sirens, the squeal of buses’ airbrakes, the chatter and laughter of a birthday party at a nearby bar. The rainwas as light as ever—nearly mist—as the crowd streamed from the theater, onlyfor a new crowd to organize and file in. It was a Tom Jones number that playedjust before the Giants emerged once more: Flans had changed his shirt, from awhite jacket and dress shirt to a simply-patterned short sleeve dress shirt.
Beginning the last show in a marathon leg of a long tour,they spaced out on the initial chord of “She’s An Angel”; Flansburgh jokedlater that the crowd was likely thinking, ‘how long are they going to beplaying? I have to take the T home…’ When someone else called out in protest,asking for the longest show possible, Flans joked: “OK, by request: blues in G.” Linnell added, laughing: “Slow blues in G.” Show two began with some excellentand deep cuts, among them “Subliminal,” “We Live in a Dump,” “XTC vs. Adam Ant,”and, from The Else, a song I never thought I’d see revived in concert again, “UpsideDown Frown.” The complex beat was a feature of their show in 2009; now, thisnumber came before an even-more-uptempo segment, from Flans’ silly little lovesong “Take Out the Trash” to “Particle Man” and “Your Racist Friend.” DanMiller was especially keen on these early cuts; who knew the band’s fifthalbum, in 1994, was so worthy of revival? Later, the set brought back “S-E-X-X-Y,”“Spy,” and even the psychologically-revealing Linnell tunes “Snail Shell” and “NoOne Knows My Plan,” as well as the fantastically-tripleted “Withered Hope,” asecond stellar cut from The Else. Flans made new use of the kick drum that hadserved in both shows as the tripod for the Avatars’ video camera during “WhistlingIn the Dark,” and Linnell seemed to get his kicks singing “Turn Around,” his old fun song abouta human skull on the ground. There were only two encores to the second show,and that was aplenty, especially as the first was built of two repeats fromshow one (“Doctor Worm” and “Istanbul (Not Constantinople),” the latter ofwhich featured Curt Ramm on trumpet as introduction). The second encore beganwith a song from their very first album, one whose melody and beat still definetheir sound: “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Clothes,” which ended with Linnell andFlans taking turns conducting the band, cueing each instrument with handmotions and robotic swings of their arms. The whole night concluded with thiserratic, atonal spontaneity: They Might Be Giants orchestrating themselves andeach other, echoing in fragments through the richly acoustic hall on a rainySaturday night. Who are these guys? We the experienced filed out of the theater and onto the wetstreets of Boston, to wait out last call in a bar and revel in the consistencyof our narratives—that we may not live a life as fragmented or as disembodiedas three months’ of near-solid touring, and to ponder what we’ve been through,from battles between humans and apes to watching the weird, live melodrama ofinstrumental interaction. We know they had fun and are tired, may have been so even before their problematic load-in downtown that afternoon. But we may have also learned something of artistic consistency, amongst so many musical and lyrical fragments, of creativity and endurance and a new dialect of pop/rock that these guys have been crafting and revising for almost thirty years. It's worth asking to what extent the Johns' lyrics reflect a postmodern notion of an unreliable narrator-- to what extent is the listener wholly or partly duped, sequestered musically into the temporary, alternate reality of a big rock show, plus puppets? Only to the extent that one seeks to notice: the fourth wall between the band and the audience is a clear one to They Might Be Giants, and Flansburgh's quick exits from stage at the close of encores notes his complicated relationship with his listeners. One may be left wondering to what extent stage persona affects and liberates the Johns' onstage roles of ringleaders, liberators, and educators.
