1997-03 Eastside Journal
Leaves Room To Grow
By Scott Mervis, transcribed by Claire Stickney, Eastside Journal, March 1997
Archived from: https://web.archive.org/web/20031018230258/http://www.tmbg.net/articles/eastside1997.html
On the new album alone, They Might Be Giants pays homage to President Polk, explores the phenomenon of metal-detector beach dudes and wages the imaginary war of "XTC vs. Adam Ant."
They regularly appear with puppet heads, and lately have been leading conga lines through nightclubs.
Still, John Linnellâthe John with the accordionâsays they haven't hung around for almost 15 years with the sole mission of being wacky.
"We don't think of it as funny," he says. "I think we probably have a more pretentious attitude about this stuff than a lot of people who listen to it. We probably consider it artistic expression, even if some people think it's some kind of a gag.
"For us," he goes on, "almost anything that's funny has a dark side to it. When I think of anything that's ever made me laugh, it's when you're grappling with something really grim."
Linnell and John Flansburgh have been grappling since '82, when the high school friends from Lincoln, Mass., took their name from a George C. Scott movie and plunged into the dives of New York City as They Might Be Giants.
Back then, they were just two Johns backed by a board of quirky electronics. The smart money didn't have them outlasting most of the bands of their era.
"A lot of the bands that don't continue on," Linnell says, "it's really because they lose heart and give up. We've had a very gradual increase in audience size and record sales. It's kind of leveled off, but that sustained us without raising our expectations to where we'd be disappointed if the bottom fell out. Which, fortunately, it hasn't."
Even more impressive is the amazing feat of remaining a happy duo with both partners writing.
"John and I know each other really well, we don't want to push stuff on each other that the other person isn't interested in, because it's just too much work. To say, like, 'Now we have to play this song that you hate. I insist!' It can be kind of unpleasant. But we still count each other as our biggest fans."
"Factory Showroom," their sixth studio record, finds them with a human rhythm section but still plenty of toys. It's a return to the wackiness that some folks thought was missing on 1994's "John Henry."
One of the most playful songs borrows the technology of 1898. The Giants were invited to the Edison Historic Site in New Jersey, where they were recorded on wax cylinder equipment without electricity.
The funny thing is, the song they wrote for it, "I Can Hear You," is a send-up of modern-day things you can't hear very well: "Guess where I am/I'm calling from the plane/I'll call you when I get there," Flansburgh sings faintly over a tuba. "What's your order?/I can supersize that/please bring your car around."
"It's more of a subject than a joke," Linnell says of that song. "Flansburgh was thinking of what kind of song he would want to hear coming out a scratchy gramophone."
It probably won't be on the set list when They Might Be Giants play live before what Linnell acknowledges as an increasingly more teenage crowd. It's a crowd, by the way, that might not share the tastes of the accordion-slinger.
"I'm kind of old and grumpy, and when I see things that are supposedly the happening thing, it's easier to see through it, and say, 'This is more recycled junk.' "