Concert Review: They Might Be Giants @ Anaheim House Of Blues 5/02

Going into the Anaheim House of Blues, I had no idea what to expect from They Might Be Giants. I had just eaten the most delicious burger I'd had in a while, but it did nothing to mollify my apprehensions about the concert. Yes, I was already familiar with TMBG, having listened to such old favorites as "Everything Right Is Wrong Again", "Purple Toupee", "Whistling In The Dark", "The Guitar (The Lion Sleeps Tonight)", and even that damn Malcolm In The Middle song ad nauseam, but these songs were just that: old. 20 years and 13 albums later, what should I have expected? Not helping matters was the crowd, which I (rightly) assumed would avail itself of the illicit beverages generously provided by the bar staff. I am a fan of neither crowds nor alcohol, so I naturally found myself worried that what George Carlin (un)affectionately referred to as the "House of Lame White Motherfuckers" might erupt into some disturbance or another. As it turned out, of course, these apprehensions of mine could not be more overwrought. They Might Be Giants were great and the show was, contrary to what Retired Animatronic Abraham Lincoln said via telephone to John Linnell mid-performance, not at all "like Gitmo".

No, any place with close proximity to Disneyland, great burgers (well, non-intravenously-fed ones anyway) and TMBG is about as far as you can get from Gitmo. It's not even close to being as much a "House of Lame White Motherfuckers" as George Carlin made it out to be. If anything, it was a "House of Tall White Motherfuckers" that night, as I discovered when I struggled to look over the heads of chiseled white dudes blocking my view, although the crowd was hardly made up solely of those. Indeed, the audience was a fairly diverse bunch, with lanky hipsters, older folks, presumably veteran TMBG fans, and brown-skinned 20-somethings like myself all turning out that night for the musical stylings of John Flansburgh and John Linnell, the singing, songwriting and creative core of They Might Be Giants, more than ably backed by Dan Miller on guitar, Danny Weinkauf on bass, and Marty Beller on drums. It was a pretty hip crowd, at least as far as I could ascertain. I guess you have to be to some degree to like They Might Be Giants, who at their most elementary level are the alternative of alternative rock. As far as I'm concerned, they have even transcended that overdone, over-saturated genre and become pioneers and patron saints of dork-rock (the only other contenders being Devo and Weird Al Yankovic). Marrying absurd, even childish lyrics to impossibly catchy melodies since 1982, TMBG are an unstoppable, alt-alt-rock powerhouse, dishing out short-but-sweet tune after short-but-sweet tune and leaving listeners begging for more, as one could easily see that night.

The band got off to an energetic start, playing fast-paced, up-beat numbers like the more recent "The Mesopotamians". A slightly melancholy tale about a rock band struggling and failing to gain recognition, the song features a simple-but-brilliant chorus that has John Linnell belt out names we haven't heard since junior high social studies like Sargon, Hammurabi and Gilgamesh over Dan Miller's vibrant guitar riffs and Marty Beller's snare drum and cymbals. Whether the song is autobiographical in any shape or form or just another nonsensical story like the ones so frequently cooked up by the Johns was, it seemed, not remotely of interest to the audience, who enthusiastically rocked along to Beller's beat. This was especially impressive, as it seemed many, including myself, were not familiar with "The Mesopotamians". If anything, it assuaged any misguided fears (like the ones I held) that TMBG had lost either their touch or that quintessential quirkiness that only they could make palatable to young adults across multiple generations.

This celebration of silliness continued with the next song, introduced by John L. as the "most honest song they had ever done." "Like that Roberta Flack song," John Flansburgh added, referring to "Killing Me Softly", to which John L. retorted "That she didn't write," prompting laughter from the audience. He remained center-stage behind his keyboard as the rest of the band broke into the piece, a lively little (in the literal sense of the word) number. John F. pranced around the stage, squawking all the while into a microphone before John L. joined in with the lyrical portion of the song. The song, "Anaheim (House of Blues)" was a whimsical ode to the venue, praising it as a fun alternative to, among other things, booze, pornography and Death Wish 3. One might think this would be a stretch in the minds of the drunk, the randy, or cheesy 80's movie fans in the audience, but judging by how positively they received the song, many of them really did feel that shelling out the big bucks to see TMBG at the Anaheim House of Blues was worth putting aside alcoholic drinks, skin flicks, and Charles Bronson for one night.

I was completely baffled by the next song, however. It's not that I disliked or didn't recognize it. I enjoyed John F.'s alternatively soothing-and-shrill singing and Dan's strong guitar melody, and I dimly recalled the notes and structure of the song. It's just that I didn't recognize it as a TMBG song. Could this be *gasp* a cover??? Not helping was the fact that when they introduced the song, the audience, animated as ever, drowned them out, leaving me, way in the back of the room, with no chance of hearing what the song was called and who did originally performed it. It was only afterwards that I did some research and discovered that the piece was called "Bills, Bills, Bills" and originally by, of all people, Destiny's Child. Where TMBG got the idea to cover this particular song is beyond me, but I am pleased they did, as John L.'s voice unexpectedly fit the resentful-but-haughty tone of the lyrics and the rest of the band cleverly reinterpreted it as a driven rocker punctuated by John F.'s high-pitched "soooooooo"'s. Don't be surprised if I come away from this review stocking up on Destiny's Child CDs along with some more TMBG ones.

They Might Be Giants in action, or at least what I could see of them.

It wasn't until later in the act that the band played any songs I, along with what seemed like a good chunk of the audience, genuinely recognized. The first of these was "Number Three", from their very first, eponymous album. For this, John F. busted out an acoustic guitar to play the song's folksy-sounding notes and took over lead vocals from John L., who would chime in during the chorus as the sped-up saxophone from the original recording was piped in via speaker. The rest of the band similarly took a backseat in this stripped-down number, with the exception of Marty who provided a steady beat on the bass drum for the song's duration. The next song the crowd immediately recognized, the much, rightfully-ballyhooed "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)", wasn't played until the very end of the show's first half. It was an excellent way to end a setlist though, as the infectious vocal harmonies John F. and John L. generated whilst they strummed the guitar and banged the ivories respectively created the hypnotically off-beat sound TMBG are famous for. Topping the performance off was the crescendo near the song's end, as the entire band drew out their individual parts to the most intense possible conclusion, driving the audience wild and concluding the first half of the performance on an impeccably high note.

Following an old novelty-song and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest theme-filled intermission, the band wasted no time kicking it back into high gear with "You're on Fire". Another of their newer songs, I was very familiar with "You're on Fire", as it was my go-to track at UCLA Radio whenever the extension cords weren't working and I had to play something on the CD player in the station. Since we were in possession of a promotional copy of Nanobots, the album on which it was released, I had the opportunity to listen to it many times, so I couldn't help but feeling a sense of nostalgia as John F. and Dan complemented each others' guitars and John L. not-so-ominously intoned that the subject of the song's hair was on fire. It was yet another classic combination of lyrics describing a comically-heightened reality and a unique, up-beat sound like the ones they made so often during their early years. Considering that the last song they played was one of, if not the standard for, such songs, it was very fitting that they opened the second half of the show with one of their latest and most engaging songs. It served as another reminder that They Might Be Giants still had it.

Indeed, they had it so much so that they were confident enough to close the show with one of their numerous children's songs, "Robot Parade". For this piece, TMBG went full-Kraftwerk, with John F.'s vocals being processed through a vocoder and John L. playing a slick electric piano setting on his keyboard. In retrospect, I must confess, I found this section of the concert a little wanting, as the original recording was played at a much lower tempo and only consisted of the vocals and electric piano, giving it a mellow, slightly menacing, sound. With the addition of bass, drums, and guitar, the piece becomes fundamentally changed, taking on a more dynamic character that I take was meant to be more suitable for live performances. This is understandable, if a little unfortunate in my humble opinion. However, they did add a fun new spin to the song's ending. As the normal run of the song came to an end, John F., still stuck in robot-speak, asked the crowd to join him in creating the world's first "human theremin". Instructing us to raise our voices in the way a theremin raises it's pitch, he sought to literally end the show on a high note. We tried, starting out low before many tapered out, causing John F. to stop, dress us down, and urge us to try again, maintaining that Borg cadence all the while. So once again, we began at the lowest possible note before slowly raising our voice. I lasted only a couple seconds before my voice gave out, but the rest of the crowd did a fair job in reaching that elusively high note. Following this, the band wrapped up, bowed to the audience, and walked off-stage.

As you might have guessed, they weren't getting off so easily. The crowd, intoxicated both figuratively and literally, demanded an encore. "Birdhouse In Your Soul" seemed to be the choice of many, and with good reason, although I think I would have preferred "Shoehorn With Teeth" or "O Do Not Forsake Me". Sure enough, the band came back out, much to the audience's joy. That joy seemed to evaporate though, when they began transitioning between the many constituent portions of "Fingertips", an oldie made at a time when "shuffle" was a novel concept and thus an attempt to exploit the myriad possibilities it offered. This sense of novelty and experimentation was apparently lost on the audience, who from what I gathered assumed it was a medley and struggled valiantly to keep up with the various transitions. One tall, impressively-mustachioed young man wearing Woody Allen glasses a couple rows ahead of me did his best to sing along and groove to each part, earnestly trying to get his female companion, short and still, into it. As far as I could tell, he didn't have any luck. After this epic act of trollery, the band got up and left the stage again, and before you could say "Please pass the milk please", the crowd resumed begging for "Birdhouse". This went on for a while, with it really seeming like a possibility that the audience would leave the House of Blues pissed that they didn't get to hear "Birdhouse". But at the last possible second, TMBG returned a second time, and yes, they played "Birdhouse". It was a spectacular send-off, thanks in no small-part to John L.'s mellifluous organ melody, John F.'s forceful guitar solo, and Marty's purposeful drumming. After the last few notes finally rang out, I stuck around and, like many, managed to not only get one of the many TMBG stickers passed out by John F. and Marty, but also get it signed by Marty as well. He was a real trooper, signing stickers and taking pictures with fans well after the show ended. Upon leaving, I found myself not apprehensive, but certain. Certain that not only was They Might Be Giants as fresh as they were 25 years ago, but they were absolutely worth seeing live, perhaps even a second time if one got the chance.

My sticker, generously signed by Marty Beller. Now to get the Johns!