“I’m sure some internet troll will quote me out of context,” John Linnell said, sporting a knowing smile, speaking into the center-stage microphone at First Avenue. “Then we’ll really be in trouble.”
For the record, yes, the quote is out of context. Linnell was telling an amusing anecdote about suddenly being woken up in his hotel room, resulting in his uttering the words, “I hate children.”
In truth, it doesn’t matter. They Might Be Giants don’t care what the trolls have to say, and that punk-rock attitude has provided them the artistic freedom they have enjoyed for over 30 years. Their uncompromising blend of catchy, hook-driven, punch-line-sporting alternative rock has allowed them to dance freely on the fringes of American pop culture in a way no other band has duplicated. They are funny without being offensive, independent without shifting too far into counter-culture.
This tour is billed as “An Evening with They Might Be Giants,” and the First Avenue show was exactly that. TMBG took the stage without an opening act, entering without ceremony. The band was relaxed, dressed comfortably, and played with the steady hands of veteran performers. They displayed showmanship and charm and relied on the quality of their material over gimmicks or stage antics.
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John Flansburgh, the guitar playing, soft-voiced half of the pair, remained off-center stage, though his presence was undeniable. He and the multi-instrumental Linnell led the band through two sets of carefully selected gems from the Giants ever-growing catalog of material.
TMBG have released 20 records since the 80s. They have written full-length children’s albums, provided theme songs and soundtrack material for television (and outlived the trendy shows to which they contributed), operated a dial-a-song telephone number and website and released music in a variety of other independent forums, long before it was the trend to do so.
Somehow, it works. Their material is thought-provoking without becoming inaccessible. They have maintained ‘indie-cred’ while enjoying continued access to a national audience. They have multi-generations of fans and show little-to-no evidence of selling/burning out.
I was introduced to the band’s hits, “Istanbul” and “Particle Man” on the Tiny Toons show in the early 90s. In front of me in the crowd was a mother/daughter duo who have seen the group multiple times. Beside them, an older couple popped each other’s backs as they tried to remain enthusiastic while standing flat-footed and upright on the concrete main-room floor. And the Giants have countless other, younger fans of their Scientific, Numeric, and Alphabetic themed albums.
Next to me was an excited teenager attending her first concert (her boyfriend was not yet 18, so he couldn’t come with her).
“Do you listen to the kid songs?” I asked her.
“Oh, no!” she said, asserting her maturity. “I like (the 1992 album) Apollo 18.”
They Might Be Giants have an innate ability to switch genres and mediums without losing any loyal fans. This phenomenon may have to do with their authenticity. TMBG always sound like themselves. Even with an excellent backing band, including horn player Curt Ramm and percussionist Marty Beller, the paired vocals of Linnell and Flansburgh mix with their musical inventiveness to create an unmistakable sound that started with just the two core members and a drum machine.
The material varies wildly from science lessons to love, death and the afterlife. It is always presented with a signature humor and non-invasive sense of goodwill. There is no malice in the music of They Might Be Giants.
“This is our most controversial song,” Flansburgh joked half-way through the first set, “Keep it in mind the next time you… get on an airplane.” The band then launched into the very-much-not-offensive “Science is Real.”
It was one of the few songs from their children’s catalog to make an appearance. A hefty portion of both sets drew from the new album, I Like Fun, proving that the band has not descended into the throwes of retro stagnancy. They don’t just come out and play the hits.
The new material has the same tongue-and-cheek humor and quiet sadness of their best work. Songs like “I Left My Body,” “This Microphone,” and the title track toggle effortlessly between emotional transparency and quirk. They Might Be Giants, like Don Quixote seeing beasts in the distance instead of windmills, make the most out of a life lived in a strange and confusing world.
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The band ended the first set with an impressive improv session that included sound effects, audience participation and creative conducting. However, the high point of the night was the beginning of the second set, when the two Johns huddled on stage right and played acoustic versions of several songs. They were accompanied only by minimal electronic drums and a soft, recorded thunderstorm. Linnell took up the contrabass clarinet during this section, which included the stellar “Older,” an 18-year-old track about the passage of time. The song has lost none of its relevancy.
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Through it all, They Might Be Giants continue to enjoy their chosen path. Early in the first set, they played a song written specifically for First Avenue. Composed during a long-ago tour where they had written a song for every venue, and then vowed to play these songs only at the corresponding location, First Avenue is one of the few remaining stops. The lyrics concern a pre-show fight that found its resolution in the band stepping on stage together. Even if They Might Be Giants are drifting into the realm of ‘classic’ music, finding their sound slowly assimilated into the tapestry of American culture, they still perform with gusto and genuine enjoyment, inspire devotion in new fans, and delight loyal long-timers.
They are truly Always Busy, Never Broken.
