Is this band good: They Might Be Giants

A regular feature where we—using scientific, circumstantial, and anecdotal evidence—determine once and for all whether a band is good

Welcome to “Is This Band Good?”, a semi-regular feature where I, with the help of a knowledgeable and accomplished musician, try to determine—quantitatively—if certain bands are actually good. 

I wish I could go back in time to see how people pitched They Might Be Giants in the ‘80s. In an era brimming with new wave, metal, punk, hip-hop and cocaine, it’s a wonder how a group that manages to be the opposite of all of those became a phenomenon. What was their intent? Was their music supposed to be taken seriously? Who, exactly, was their audience? I’m not an expert on music marketing, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have an audience in mind, and nobody can get away with saying “everybody.” 

But that’s sort of what They Might Be Giants has accomplished during their 40-year run. The band formed in 1982 when Lincoln, Massachusetts natives John Flansburgh and John Linnell moved to Brooklyn to pursue a music career. The two-piece—Flansburgh on guitar, Linnell on keyboards/accordion—quickly built a cult following with live shows that blurred the lines between concert, comedy show and performance art. In that regard, it seems the band could’ve only existed in New York City—a city with a burgeoning appetite for post-postmodernism, transgressiveness, and high-low art. 

By the time their self-titled first album came out in 1986, they had become so popular that they were selling out every show at Darinka—a Lower East Side (illegal) venue that claimed TMBG as their official house band. 

How TMBG got the music video for their first single “Don’t Let’s Start” (which was later shouted-out on Jimmy Eat World’s “A Praise Chorus”) on MTV is anyone’s guess, but the herky-jerky energy and low-budget aesthetic proved a decent fit among new wave bands who were experimenting in the visual medium’s then-infancy. The video for “Don’t Let’s Start” gave the rest of the country a taste of TMBG’s pop avant-garde that had previously only been accessible to New York weirdos. 

The band also pioneered zany and unconventional methods of sharing music, namely through their famous Dial-A-Song phone number. Simply, anyone could dial up the band’s Brooklyn answering machine to hear new TMBG songs, demos, and other miscellania. The concept seems novel and terrifying now (why would anyone choose to dial a strange phone number?), but Dial-A-Phone’s twee originality won over the hearts of listeners across the nation, including This American Life editor, Sarah Vowel, who profiled the service in 1998. You have to know about Dial-A-Phone when discussing the band, or else TMBG-heads will call the cops on you. 

Their growing popularity landed them on the major label Electra, which put out their seminal third album, Flood, that featured the hits “Birdhouse in Your Soul” as well as “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” and “Particle Man.” Both of those songs were later worked into animated segments on Tiny Toon Adventures, which proved to be a perfect showcase for the band’s child-like absurdity. I would not be surprised if a large fraction of current fans came to the band through Tiny Toons. That’s how I did. 

After Flood—which was certified platinum—and a few more albums, the two Johns expanded TMBG into a full band for 1994’s John Henry, but their positive eccentricity kind of got lost in the dour sea of grunge. But they’ve managed to stay in the spotlight through their prolific TV work (they wrote Malcolm In The Middle’s [“DEWEY!”] infectious theme song “Boss of Me” as well as the opening song to John Stewart’s The Daily Show). TMBG have also leaned into their childish appeal by putting out a series of albums written specifically for kids. 

This all raises the questions: Who does They Might Be Giants write music for, exactly? Are they a band for kids? Do they make music for children? Are they a joke band? Are they genuine weirdos, or are they just talented opportunists who follow the money? Are TMBG songs clever, or just silly? When they’re underwater, do they get wet? 

Ultimately, is They Might Be Giants a good band? 

PROSECUTORS

Scott Wasilewski: You might remember me from such “Is This Band Good?”s as “Is This Band Good: Cake”. I’m a cellist [1][2][3], composer and performative critic of everything. I also have great taste so if anything you read here doesn’t seem funny, I invite you to look inward and use it as an opportunity to work on yourself.

Ryan Bradford: I write this newsletter. I like music. I sometimes play it. You could say I’m a fan. Music is great. Live, laugh, love. 

BACKGROUND

RB: Growing up, They Might Be Giants’ Flood was one of the few albums my entire family could agree upon. The album was a perennial soundtrack to Sunday morning chores—a compromise between the grunge my brother and I wanted to blast, and whatever my parents were listening to in the mid ‘90s. Sorry, parents, for throwing you under the bus, but given the choice between Toad the Wet Sprocket and They Might Be Giants, we were gonna pick TMBG every time. To this day, I know every word to every song on Flood. 

But I’m not sure how Flood entered our household. I think my older brother and I had actually seen the Tiny Toons clips before we had got the album, but I don’t know if my parents had also seen the cartoons and then bought the album based on our reaction, or if it was just coincidence. My dad was especially fond of new wave-ish bands, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had discovered Flood independently from Tiny Toons. 

But after Flood, my parents never bought another They Might Be Giants record. 

You’d think that something as integral to my upbringing would spur further exploration into the band’s catalog, but before embarking on this deep-dive, I couldn’t name any TMBG song that doesn’t appear on Flood. Sort of a Flood-and-done sort of thing, if you will. 

This encapsulates how I feel about They Might Be Giants now: it’s easy to become infatuated with their music, to let it enter your veins and open your mind, but it’s just as easy to toss it aside once the rush is done. In that sense, their music is like candy—something that was valuable to me when I was young, but now is only tolerable in small doses. 

SW: So TMBG has been around just a little longer than I have. We practically grew up together. You know, in the way that I grew up with millions of other people who I’ve never met that happened to be created around the same time as me, give or take a few years. So that is to say, I am able to assume they exist. I did work at a radio station for a little while though, so when Ryan asked if I knew who these guys were, I was legally obligated to say yes and rattle off a few things I had heard from someone who was way too into TMBG at a party that I somehow retained.

The thing is, as TMBG was titillating the east coast with their accordion tinged comedy rock, a man, Alfred Yankovic was doing the same thing across the country. I don’t know what parents would call it in the ‘80s or ‘90s, but I think most would consider it self-care to only allow your offspring to listen to one accordion-wielding comedy rock group. It might also be a more responsible developmental decision for the children. I’m not a child psychologist. What I do know is that we were a Weird Al house (the aforementioned Alfred Yankovic is actually better known by his stage name Weird Al. Don’t feel bad if you googled this. I should have mentioned it earlier). 

I’m sure I was aware of TMBG. Probably some kid from school played them for me on the bus or something, but it wasn’t a standout moment for me. I do remember my rediscovery of the band, though. It was totally the Malcolm in the Middle thing. I was in high school when that show came out and was finally getting some sense of musical identity. The theme song had this snotty pop-punk sort of sound that I was starting to gravitate to. Now that I think about it, that show Sealab 2021 had the same sort of feel. When I chart my musical development I now have to rectify that I went from listening to primarily Weird Al to primarily TV theme songs.

Anyway, I was able to search up the theme song to the show (probably on AskJeeves.com) and find out it was by this band, They Might Be Giants, who I might have heard of previously, on a bus. 

That’s probably enough of inventing a backstory when I really don’t have one. I know these guys mostly by reputation and a handful of their most popular songs. Before sitting down to write this article I assumed TMBG were the spot on the Venn Diagram where the circles “Barenaked Ladies” and “Weird Al” collide.

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

RB: It takes one cold bastard to hate on They Might Be Giants. Their endless well of charm and cleverness has granted them rent-free status in the minds of children, music nerds, and casual fans alike. What kind of monster would dare naysay a whimsical treat like “Particle Man”? 

Yo. 

I wouldn’t go as far as to say They Might Be Giants is a bad band, but as a 30-something, childless schlub who’s been ground up by life/the world, it’s hard to see the appeal. Revisiting Flood for this assignment, I was struck by how quickly my nostalgia turned to annoyance. Whereas my younger self latched onto the band’s absurdist humor and playful genre-hopping, these days it just feels arbitrary, empty, and even a little naive. There’s so little emotional depth to the songs, and nothing to really sink your teeth into. In that way they feel like a novelty band, similar to Flight of the Conchords or Tenacious D.

Part of the problem may be the lack of a signature sound. There’s a weird disconnect in the fact that there’s no mistaking a TMBG song, but it’s nearly impossible to describe their music. Not that everything needs to be categorized, but it’s very difficult to cultivate serious interest without a narrative or stylistic throughline. On the band’s fourth album Apollo 18, for example, they burst out the gate with a jittery, Joe Jackson-esque punker “Dig My Grave” and it’s honestly quite thrilling. But three songs later, they’ve gone full-blown swing mode on “Actual Size.” Granted, this was before the corny swing revival of the late ‘90s (anyone else experience PTSD-like symptoms at the sound of anything vaguely resembling Cherry Poppin’ Daddies?), but the disparity between styles is jarring. Frankly, it makes me uncomfortable. It’s almost like listening to an album of television jingles with each song written for a wildly different client (also sidenote: every TMBG album has like 20 songs. Too many songs! Too many styles!) 

While listening to They Might Be Giants, I couldn’t help but think of another undefinable, weirdo musical duo from the same era: Ween. The thing is, I unapologetically love Ween, and I love them for some of the exact reasons why I don’t like They Might Be Giants: the cleverness, the genre dodging, the fervent devotion they inspire in fans. 

So why doesn’t TMBG—a band with the same characteristics—do much for me anymore? It was driving me mad to have these seemingly hypocritical reactions, but then it hit me: They Might Be Giants feels like a PG-rated version of Ween. There’s grime in Ween songs, a vulgarity that feels more authentic and less shrewd than TMBG’s intellectual cleverness. Sure, you don’t get songs that make fun of AIDs or spinal meningitis with TMBG, but disgust is a stronger reaction than a shrug and we never have to wonder about Ween’s intentions i.e. whether they’re making weird art or gunning for universal commercial appeal. 

There’s also something that feels vaguely elitist about They Might Be Giants’ music, like a cleverer-than-thou aspect found in, say, McSweeneys books or NPR podcasts. And like those products, TMBG seems tailor-made for upper-middle-class, white, left-leaning intellectuals who dabble in irreverence (this is all reinforced by the fact that public radio icons Sarah Vowell, Ira Glass and McSweeneys founder Dave Eggers are heavily-featured talking heads in the TMBG documentary, Gigantic: A Tale of Two Johns). This isn’t meant to be a dig, because I’m very much part of that group, but it’s art that hits all the boxes on a checklist of privilege. 

But make no mistake, They Might Be Giants wouldn’t be where they are without creating some truly amazing and original art. I’ve whined a lot about their intentions, but there’s no denying that the two Johns have fucking talent and songwriting chops. Like “Birdhouse In Your Soul”—I don’t even know what they’re doing on that song, but when that volume kicks in, it easily becomes one of the best songs of the ‘90s. 

I hadn’t heard “Don’t Let's Start” from TMBG’s first album, but that song totally deserves the Jimmy Eat World shout-out. It’s a wild, musically anarchic ride that makes a lot of ‘80s songs sound tired in comparison. And “Ana Ng,” the opening track to their second album Lincoln,is equally great—like a way less-creepy version of Weezer’s “Across the Sea.”

I’m sure that being a parent, TMBG just hits a little differently. If I had children, I would love to listen to this type of music with them, even if kid-oriented songs like “Dinner Bell'' and “32 Footsteps” (with its lyrics Bing bang bingalong, cing cang cingalong, ding dang dingalong day) and are sonic equivalents of an eyelid twitch. 

There’s a lot of value in exposing kids to this kind of music in that I think it shows them it’s okay to be nerdy, smart and weird. In the Gigantic documentary, Ira Glass really nails TMBG’s essentiality: “I think the reason they get an audience whose age seems to start at 12 to 14, is that there’s a cleverness to the songs that just kills you when you’re that age. You just can’t believe that it could be that clever.” 

And that’s how I remember feeling when I first heard Flood. 

THEORETICAL EVIDENCE 

Okay, so as I described earlier, I know a few tracks by TMBG. The hits. I’ve seen two guys struggle through “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” at a karaoke bar. I’ve heard TMBG when I put on my appropriately titled Themes from TV shows that first ran in the year 2000 and a few Goo Goo Dolls songs playlist. I’ve put them on after seeing a birdhouse. I’ve had 46 seconds to quietly ruminate on minimum wage. I won’t go on, I think there are a few “Particle Man” jokes in this article already.

Anyway, I needed to get acquainted with the deep cuts. I couldn’t just judge them based on the theme from Malcolm in the Middle (full marks for that one, though). Are they good or are they just some guys who’re throwing every type of song they can come up with out into the world and waiting for a few to catch? Would doing so preclude them being a good band? Find out definitely below. 

To start, I poured myself a cocktail fitting for the occasion (Vodka, Welch’s white grape juice with a half dozen maraschino cherries.) and dug in. I listened to Lincoln (1988). I listened to Flood (1990). I listened to I Like Fun (2018). Turns out there are a lot of TMBG songs. I needed help, so I sent my buddy Tommy a message. Tommy is not only the first person I thought of that might know the deal with TMBG but has an incredible depth of knowledge for bands I don’t. Know that song “Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne? Well Tommy knows all the writing credits for the rest—and therefore unpopular—songs on that album. Tommy probably knows how to play 'em all as well. Even better, when I received a playlist back, they were almost entirely songs I had already listened to (Big time-saver. Thanks, Tommy).

Just to get it out of the way, I’m gonna dryly address technical stuff first. Everything that I've heard from these guys is really well put-together. The performance is super tight in all the right places and they're obviously really capable musicians that know and play with other really capable musicians. The production is also top notch. It’s amazing to have a career spanning over 40 years and have such consistent quality of performance and sound. 100 Good Band PointsTM. There we can move on.

I’m also gonna give these guys another 100 GBPTM’s for their rhythm section. This is entirely based on the double kick programming at 1:14 on “Your Racist Friend.” I’m not trying to diminish the rest of the drum programming or bass playing. I usually don’t award points in this category. The drum programming overall is good. It’s definitely pretty straightforward but there are enough little quirks that you can hear coming through that set it apart from other things of the time period. 

Tonally, it’s kinda crazy how solid these two guys from Brooklyn are. The big piece of evidence everyone kept pointing to is how “Birdhouse in Your Soul” changes keys a whopping 18 times! It even says it on Wikipedia! I wholeheartedly disagree with this assessment but who am I to question the authority of ClueBot and JiminyTheCricket or whichever person added that little tidbit to the article? I was told to not get too pedantic so I’m just gonna say, regardless of how many key changes you count in “Birdhouse in Your Soul,” there are a number of really cool things going on that you aren’t gonna hear in an Aerosmith song.

Five of five chords, chromatic mediants, and a slew of really interesting and sometimes delayed resolutions persist throughout TMBG’s catalog (or at least happen a handful of times in the tracks I listened to) that make what would be a pretty standard rock song have a whimsical and floaty feeling. Were these two comedic rockers devouring the music of Béla Bartók while they wrote Flood? There’s no way to know for sure, but yes, definitely, for sure. 500 GBPTM’s.

In summary, you aren’t getting a whole lot of in-your-face showy technicality, or really wacky music. TMBG seem to be uniquely un-unique in some ways, but they’re masters of their craft and manage to do some really interesting things harmonically with seamlessness and subtlety. They’re also able to weave a number of different types of music into their songs while still retaining the very They Might Be Giant-ness that makes them They Might Be Giants. It’s also really important to note that the song “Kiss Me, Son of God”is totally awesome and I will now be awarding them 50 Good Band PointsTM  for the strings on that track.

I’m not quite sure, but I think in many cases these guys have something poignant to say, or at least they do for a refrain or two. I’m sure given another few They Might Be Giant-themed cocktails (see above for recipe) and some extra time I could absolutely convince myself that their songs aren’t gibberish and are actually complex allegorical references to universal truths that only they hold the key to. Conversely I might completely convince myself that they’re playing some sort of musical sudoku where they have to fit nine words into a certain melody. Almost as if they forgot to go back and replace the placeholder lyrics. I’m looking at you “Particle Man.” Minus 350 GBPTM’s. I’m also gonna have to award some points because I don’t know which singer it is, but the vowel sounds he makes sound exactly like Alfred Yankovic at times. That’s 100 GBPTM’s but also negative 80 GBPTM’s.

Lastly, the major takeaway for me after spending so much time getting acquainted with this band, and it has nothing to do with their music, is: If you want a long career in music, learn from Weird Al. Learn from They Might Be Giants. Don’t do some goofball death metal thing, or become a music teacher. Write comedy songs and throw in an accordion every once in a while. 

VERDICT

More like They Might Not Be As Good As You Remember, but they still have some great songs, and they’re excellent for kids. 

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THE WEEKLY GOODS

Go to this

The first ever North Park Book Fair is going down this Saturday in front of Verbatim Books from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. and it’s going to be a banger. Lord bless Verbatim for putting this thing on and getting San Diego’s word-lovers together for a big party. And guess what: your favorite newsletter AwkwardSD is going to be there. Big time. Come say hi! I’m excited to hear about everything that’s been going on in your life for the past, oh, 16 months or so. I’m honored to be a part of this festival, and also very excited to share a table with Glitter Pile, aka my friend, bandmate, and resin art maestro, Shelby Wentz, who has a new how-to guide on making resin art. I’ll also be selling exclusive AWKSD merch, so please bring all the money you made on GameStonks and NFTs over the past year. And if you’re a paying AWKSD subscriber, you have to come by, because I’ll give you a free gift. 

In case you’ve forgotten how much I like literary stuff, take another look at the video in which I express a mild interest in books. Hope to see you at the North Park Book Fair, nerds! 

Listen to this

Yesterday, Radiohead singer Thom York put out a reimagining of his band’s unkillable 1993 hit, “Creep.” Even though I don’t really have an issue with the original version (and actually think Pablo Honey isn’t that bad), I do understand why “Creep” feels misrepresentative of the band’s genius to many Radiohead... uh heads (it’s sort of like Beastie Boys’ “Girls” in that way). But this new version slows things way down, turning the Gen X anthem into a creepy dirge that feels like it belongs on York’s great Suspiria soundtrack. Take a listen below. 

But what’s more important here is that my good friend and karaoke king Scotty Pants has already turned this haunting new version into a karaoke track. You see, Scotty has the most impressive karaoke list I’ve ever seen, and when anyone signs up to sing “Creep” over the multitude of Radiohead tracks he has in his arsenal, Scotty puts the singer on the spot by asking “I’m required by law to ask if there’s anything I can do to get you to sing ANY other Radiohead song instead?” It’s always funny to see the person get flustered from shame and indignation before realizing it’s a joke, and then of course Scotty will play “Creep” and the singer will kill it because it’s a good karaoke song. 

Anyway, this is all to say that in-person karaoke is back at Til-Two Club on Sunday nights, and I’m stoked. Pants Karaoke is basically my church, and last Sunday’s welcome back event was as celebratory and cathartic as a religious revival, but with lots more Miller High Lifes. 

Watch this

“I would like people to see our city differently, and not to just let patriotism be the way that we function,” says San Diego video artist Evan Apodaca in the trailer for his forthcoming project “Monumental Interventions: Secret City.” Judging by the trailer, “Secret City” aims a critical eye at the military complex in San Diego, but does so via monologues delivered by military statues, which Apodaca animated with motion capture techniques. It’s a truly ambitious idea, even for an artist known for his boundary-pushing projects, and the clips featured in the trailer look astounding. “Secret City” will be both a documentary and an augmented reality experience. I can’t wait to see the final project when it’s finished in September. 

Got a tip or wanna say hi? Email me at ryancraigbradford@gmail.com, or follow me on Twitter @theryanbradford. And if you like what you’ve just read, please hit that little heart icon at the end of the post.