TMBGs at The Beacon

I remember the late 80's music scene vividly, for a variety of reasons. I was in high school, I had begun to venture outside of the musical mainstream, and perhaps most importantly, I had finally become comfortable with the fact that I was an incredible dork. It had taken a while to find such comfort, but I was now ready to celebrate my quirkiness with volume and style. At about that time, just the right time it seemed, I discovered They Might Be Giants.
My friend Lonny had introduced me to the band, after stumbling across them on the now defunct WDRE’s Shreik of the Week. It was December of 1988, and when Lonny played me “Ana Ng,” I was intrigued. I moved on to “Don’t Let Start,” and then “Purple Toupee.” A few years later they released “Flood,” they had their first hit in “Istanbul was Constantinople,” Lonny and I saw them live at UMASS Dartmouth, and after “Apollo 18,” I sort of forgot about them for a while. Not so for Lonny.
Flash forward to 2008, when I became aware of a concert at one of my favorite venues, The Beacon. My son, going through my old CD’s, had started to love this band from my high school days. And Lonny had remained a devout fan, finding shows at The Stone Pony, or whatever other local club might present TMBG with an opportunity to play for their loyal following. This was an incredible opportunity, a blending of nostalgia, sentimentality, and the bridging of generations. I bought the three tickets and marked the calendar.
The first trick to the show was the notice that this concert was for patrons over 14 years old. I speculated that this was targeted at the consumers of the TMBG children’s albums, and decided we would chance it. I dressed up my nine year old son to look as adolescent as possible, stopping short of any piercings or dangerous looking tattoos. But I was incredibly discouraged when, at our pre-concert meal, the waitress offered my son some crayons and a coloring book. I quickly turned his baseball hat around, taught him a few choice words and the value of attitude, and at the ticket line, we pushed our way through despite a brief protest. Fortunately, this show was worth the effort.
The band had grown since I last saw them. They had added guitarists Dan Miller and Danny Weinkauf, with the drums manned by Marty Beller. John Flansburg displayed his strong guitar and tremendous energy from the very beginning. Balanced against John Linnell’s voice and understatedness, they displayed the recognizable formula from two decades ago. They wasted no time, ripping into the first of two acts by emphasizing newer material. The Else was featured early on, with a particularly strong performance of “The Mesopotamians.” But they didn’t neglect those songs from my high school days, finding room for powerful renditions of “Purple Toupee” and “Ana Ng.” Confetti cannons and a packed house contributed to what seemed like madness, but the band was in control. They closed the first act with their most recognizable song, “Istanbul was Constantinople,” and Miller’s guitar work was amazing, yielding at the end of the song to a preview of the upcoming second act....a horns section.
After a short intermission, the band was now joined by, a horn players Kurt Ram, Stan Harrison, and Dan “The Machine” Levine. With the now eight conservatively dressed musicians on stage, Flood and Apollo 18 favorites were featured with new wrinkles, and added depth. “Particle Man” and “Whispers” sounded better than ever. And in the midst of it all, Flansburgh’s guitar and Linnell’s voice remained at the core. It is hard to decide which serves as the band’s more defining characteristic, although I lean towards Linnell’s frenetic, whimsical, and nasally singing. I looked to my right a few times to catch my son and Lonny singing in earnest along with Linnell. John’s approach, largely because of his humility and self deprecating humor, seems to invite this sort of participation. While my son and Lonny don’t have the same pitch perfect approach to the material, they recognize an invitation to just let go and have fun.
Last week, I downloaded the recent Washington D.C. concert for my son, and he played “New York City” repeatedly. Tonight, Flansburg and Linnell choose this song for its final encore. The band was gone, leaving the two Johns center stage, singing their last selection. I started to think about the band, and I realized how important this band was to me in emphasizing the value of individuality, the acceptability of somewhat idiosyncratic approaches. I saw a man my age with a mohawk-ish haircut, and his friend playing an accordion, and I recognized the value of the things in life that are genuine and lasting. And the company I kept that night as the last notes echoed in the theater......well, it couldn’t have been more perfect.