Shows/1988-12-14

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Setlist: (Incomplete!)

They Might Be Giants
— with Balancing Act opening —
First Avenue in Minneapolis, MN
December 14, 1988 at 8:00 PM


Fan Recaps and Comments:

Photo by Jimmy Steinfeldt

Show review from City Pages, December 21, 1988:

"Pop Gods" by Jim Meyer
The Wallets are dead. Long live They Might Be Giants.
The quality index on the independent music scene may be pretty low, but we diehards trudge through the sludge because when the underground gets a hit, it scores like no major label can. The "indie" circuit is where delightfully unmarketable bands start — and often end — their careers. The passing of a promising group such as the Wallets is saddening, since groups with such mind-broadening potential don't come along very often. But as the Wallets go out, in comes a similarly (dis)oriented band that's less than half their size, but twice as potent.
They Might Be Giants are two East Coast kooks from a whole other musical world — one we should all visit. Their deftly daft wit, broad pop mastery and lyrical cunning fills two giddy albums with nine- and 10-song sides that sound like a closet full of toy instruments bursting open. Not bad for two men and a drum machine. On the new album, Lincoln, they've toned down the musical slapstick and focused their wild imaginations in stronger song forms. The band calls it "keeping the kitchen sink in the window." I call it delicious.
With such a flawless track record, the duo had almost nothing left to prove on stage last week at First Avenue. When you're a perfect pop band, the only way to go is down, but the group didn't miss a step in charming a partisan crowd even more. The only uncertainty was how well they would integrate pre-recorded backing tracks into their set, but non-stop touring has given them so much practice that the greater danger seems to be excessive slickness. Fortunately the duo has the charisma and presence to humanize the machine-made music and fend off routinization.
Sometimes the live show lacked the albums' musical diversity, but the Johns made up for it in personality. Lefty guitarist John Flansburgh looks like a cuddly version of Elvis Costello, grabbing his ax by the throat and making every possible movement he can without bending his knees. (The Pogo lives!) His wit was quick as any stand-up comic, and his audience rapport wasn't just humor-in-a-can. Accordion squeezer John Linnell, the son of a poet, seemed more bashful, but both share a "friendly alien" persona that endears them instantly and constantly. But the Giants broke lyrical ground (and the otherwise slaphappy mood of the evening) with a new song that offered an inspirational, instructional message about dealing with friends who exhibit racial prejudice. If there's one lesson the other low-budget bands can learn from the Giants' universal adoration, it's that these times beg for new musical ideas, fresh combinations and lyric writers who can get to the truth of personal matters with flair. The Giants have it and they've reaped the praises, but that freshness and meaning is missing from most pop music at any level.
The Giants have stated that the music industry is a dinosaur in need of slaying and their apparent wish to keep things simple and personal (e.g., their Dial-a-Song service, "free if you call from work") are evidence that these guys want to play good, intelligent music without the bullshit. A lot of bands make big promises on their way to the mainstream jackpot but last week, Flansburgh and Linnell showed they're the kind of characters who can make pop music mean something more than a self-absorbed advancement scheme. For that and for some truly wonderful music, they deserve the heaps of praise they've garnered, and more.
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