Little Giants

Reflections as my favorite band changes its diapers

BY John Feuerstein

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photo courtesy of author
TMBG

ALL THROUGH MIDDLE SCHOOL the chicks only wanted dudes who listened to Nirvana and Skee-Lo. Where did that leave the disenfranchised youth who were interested in subjects loftier than dollars, bitches and blow? Enter They Might Be Giants, a band for music fans whose first sexual experiences were destined to involve their computers. Two weeks ago marked the release of the Giants' twelfth studio album, Here Come the ABCs, representing their second foray into the morass of children's music. During their lackluster publicity tour stop at Providence Place's own Borders Bookstore, I had a precious few moments to look back and reflect on a band that is undoubtedly bigger now than the Rolling Stones have ever been.

For the beginner, They Might Be Giants' entire catalog offers the stalwart listener, the dedicated fan and-of course-the irrepressible nerd a lengthy and varied sonic journey through the post-punk fallout of 1980s New York City. The band saw a musical utopia where songs could be about more than girls, and more than heartbreak. I have always been drawn to their bordering-on-pop riffs and felt safe in the knowledge that by the end of the album I will have learned something, something I should have learned in AP American History.

And so, their recent departure into children's fare almost makes sense. After the band realized a hit with "Boss Of Me," the theme song to Fox's sleeper hit Malcolm in the Middle, their evolution had already begun. That song, while not a particular departure in terms of sound or style, was targeted at an audience of children. Astute children of the Nick Toons Generation® might have recognized this trend from as far back as the Tiny Toons renditions of "Particle Man" and "Istanbul," but for the first time with "Boss of Me" They Might Be Giants were writing music for, and about. the kids.

Merry Melodies

As I looked around the mall I saw the same twenty-somethings-going-on-thirty-somethings who I'm sure had done crystal meth and seen early Giants concerts at PS1 in Brooklyn. Except now they featured sporty bald spots, marginally successful marriages and Volvos. They also had kids. Kids who needed to learn how to spell. The line to purchase Here Come the ABCs on CD and DVD snaked around the Sports aisle, buzzed past the New Age section, and tapered out somewhere in Occult. It was a parade of American Express platinum front to end. You can't fault a band for recognizing an opportunity.

The album itself offered up many pleasant surprises. As a child bred on a solid diet of Raffi, Sesame Street and Jethro Tull, I can definitely say that They Might Be Giants will not disappoint the discerning toddler. I bought the DVD, which was, oddly enough, cheaper than the album, with the thought that even if it sucked (it didn't) I could still pop it in to calm my jangled, hungover nerves (I haven't). Broken down into more than 30 two or three minute tracks, the Here Come the ABCs DVD comes off as more of a fever dream than an actual album experience.

Several tracks like "E Eats Everything" are children's pabulum at its finest, running through the alphabet from front to back. But check out "Alphabet of Nations," a musical tour around the world to give the Animaniacs a run for their money. (Still, no one can touch Wacko for the state capitals. Don't even try.) "Alphabet of Nations," like many of the other tracks on the DVD, features mediocre Flash-style animation, which is often uninspiring for the simple fact that much, much better Flash-even for two-year-olds-is just a click away. The Giants' creativity at its finest really shines through in their live-action sketches, where they at times perform as sock puppets. And the album's best offering is "Q U," in which the song's eponymous letters take a whirlwind trip through Manhattan.

During their mall performance, some may have looked into the eyes of any member of the band, or any member of the audience, and detected a tinge of defeat. An acceptance that this was the end of an era, that nerd rock had said its peace, and was ready to fade away. But, like the tenacious mold spore that goes into remission only to propagate a stronger, purer strain of mold spore, the geek cult will always have its torch-carriers, eager to show off their knowledge of mold spores. While Here Come the ABCs is not nearly as exploratory or as engaging as the band's recent studio releases, it manages to stimulate both the intellectual and musical nerves that are the touchstones of their success. That being said, it is not without some sadness that long time fans bid farewell to the once Godfathers of nerd-rock. The band has undoubtedly changed. It has lost its horn section for good and has tooled through a roster of drummers with a speed only to be rivaled by Spinal Tap. A wiser man than I once said, "the times they are a-changin,'" and life-long fans like me have the option to roll with the punches, or adapt alongside the band. Of course, when the sounds that come out of your speakers are so damn good, the decision is not a hard one to make.

I have still found that They Might Be Giants' fans are uniquely rabid about preaching their gospel to new converts, and to see a crowd of 8- and 9-year-olds singing along to the limp strains of "Don't Let's Start," a song from the earliest days of the band, brought me a special pleasure. It was something bordering the reassurance you get when you meet another Giants fan; you can look at each other and remind yourselves that yes, this is something truly special, and we're not all just crazy.

Birtyday Song

I can't recommend Here Come the ABCs to a first-time listener. As if the fawning words of one They Might Be Giants sycophant could be enough. But, it makes a sturdy addition to any existing collection. As usual, you can hear some of the tracks from the album on Dial-A-Song, the most advanced music distribution technology since Marconi invented the radio. While other bands and the RIAA are getting their collective panties in a twist over internet file-sharing, TMBG has offered their music directly to their listeners at 718-387-6962 for the past 15 years. Skeptics used to scoff at their out-of-the-box ideas, but anyone with a phone and 30 minutes to spare has been able to hear the latest and the greatest from They Might Be Giants. Make sure you have the time to spare though.the Dial-a-Song motto is "25 hours a day, 6 days a week. Free when you call from work. Always busy, often broken." And they take it very, very seriously.

Johns Flansburg and Linnell, the band's frontmen, seem to have ridden the crest of irrepressible nerdery with songs about astrophysics, obscure presidents and aberrant zoology to the heights of fame in the summer of 2004 when they played to a packed house at the Conservative Synagogue in Westport, Connecticut. The occasion was my 21st birthday party. To say that the experience was anything less than the fulfillment of a long overdue adolescent fantasy would be an outright lie, but it did embody the communal aspect of They Might Be Giants fanship. As surprised as I was surprised that they were even willing to take the stage, they treated this gig like any other-except without the kids' songs. I got a kick-ass picture of me on the drum kit, which I may or may not take to bed with me every night. People have told me that the concert was a waste of time and money. I have always been quick to counter with a well-intentioned "Oh yeah, well fuck you." You don't kneel down to the TMBG alter? Then get out of my temple.

JOHN FEUERSTEIN B'05 can be found at shul every Friday, in case you want to discuss "Particle Man.

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