Shows/1990-02-16
You must be logged in to mark yourself for being at this show.
Links:
Setlist: (incomplete and possibly out of order)
- Ana Ng
- Lie Still, Little Bottle
- Where Your Eyes Don't Go
- Birdhouse In Your Soul
- Lucky Ball & Chain
- Istanbul (Not Constantinople)
- Whistling In The Dark
- Nothing's Gonna Change My Clothes
- Particle Man
- Your Racist Friend
- Hearing Aid
- Don't Let's Start
- Shoehorn With Teeth
- Chess Piece Face
- Kiss Me, Son Of God
They Might Be Giants
— with Popinjays, The Trash Can Sinatras opening —
University of London Union in London, UK
February 16, 1990
Fan Recaps and Comments:
According to David Rose, English singer-songwriter Jonathan King attended this show, and wrote about the band's performance in his Sun music column the next week, titling it "Fab Two Might Be The New Beatles"[1].
"Psychedelia and pseudo-polkas" by Alasdair Crewe
The Times, Feb. 19, 1990:
They Might Be Giants take a perverse delight in toppling perceptions of what a rock band should be like. Strolling on stage like Sophomores back from vacation, the two Johns, Flansburgh and Linnell, looked unsettlingly normal.
Yet the band inhabit the same "gee, what a weird bunch humans are" territory claimed by Talking Heads, except that they do it with laughs. Their faux-naif lyrics could have been scribbled on the backs of envelopes and then posted to the wrong address. It is hard to decide whether they are incredibly smart or just plain dumb.
Do not be fooled by the mock philosophical stance, though the band throw up some infuriatingly catchy tunes. They betray a dazzling variety of influences, from head-turning psychedelia in the chart-bound single "Birdhouse in Your Soul" to driving country rock in "Lucky Ball and Chain". However, they are not above throwing in the odd polka and, perplexingly, the underlying feel is that of the music hall "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" and "Shoehorn With Teeth" are pure vaudeville.
Recreating the hyperactive, many-textured sounds the band achieves on record would be near impossible, so they do not even try. Instead, they use backing tapes to add a pounding bass-heavy rhythm section to the pared-down guitar and accordion, topped up on occasion by those lesser-known rock instruments: the bass sax, metronome and big bass drum.
Such reliance on pre-recorded tapes might have resulted in a mechanical, soulless parade of musical trickery, but they manage to avoid this by reinterpreting the songs a broad selection from the new Elektra album, Flood, as well as from older Indie albums to exploit the strengths of live instrumentation.
Neither do they need lessons in stagecraft. Guitarist Flansburgh bounces like a hyperactive Clark Kent puppet; while Linnell is a sardonic, static presence behind his oversize accordion. It is not, in any case, the easiest instrument with which to perform on-stage gymnastics. The audience, at times unsure whether to laugh or dance, somehow managed to do both.
"Giant steps" by Jim White
The Independent, Feb. 20, 1990:
Loans may come, grants may go, but student life remains the same. The sign in the University of London Union bar read "They Might Be Giants, but they can't drink three cans of Red Stripe. Can you? Try it. £1 a can."
As luck would have it, the sign writer was safe from libel suits. The Brooklyn pair who constitute They Might Be Giants do not look as though student levels of consumption are their priority, John Flansburgh, the guitarist, has a face which might have been plucked from a nearby maths lecture; and his partner, John Linnell, plays accordion, an instrument which has associations with neither rock and roll nor heavy drinking. Together, however, the two Johns are the most entertaining prospect to emerge from the USA since Jonathan Richman.
"Greetings from Brooklyn. Welcome to our intimate living room," said Flansburgh, as the pair trotted on to stage. Guitar, squeeze box and jokes: It sounds like a tired Pogues parody, but the Giants are capable of extracting considerable diversity from limited resources. Backed by a drum machine and two metronomes, set reverentially on plinths, they play a bizarre array of instruments including a serpentine bass sax and a huge Belfast parade drum. They switch quickly from humorous ditties ("Nothing's Gonna Change My Clothes") through romps ("Particle Man") to numbers which almost pass for profound ("Your Racist Friend"). They get the packed crowd pogo-ing through a song called "Don't Let's Start" with John Flansburgh wheeling round the stage in a fair imitation of a guitar hero; there is even a fight at the back of the hall during "Chess Piece Face" which, in fairness, had more to do with Red Stripe than rabble-rousing.
Jonathan King may have been there, but it should not be inferred that The Giants are a novelty act. They are heirs to the Loudon Wainwright tradition, nice observations with a surreal twist. "I look like Jesus", ran the chorus of one song. Justice dictates they should become giant, but mainstream taste suggests they will remain marginal: as rock venues offer executive entertainment facilities and champagne, the Giants will still be found on the college circuit. Playing the sort of place that attaches a primordial flotsam to the soles of your shoes as you leave.
A review of the show by by Stephen Dalton
New Musical Express, Mar. 3, 1990:
Our flexible friends They Might Be Giants come to us from the future, which is about as post-modern as you can get, but theirs is an alternative low-tech future where all pop stars have degrees.To finish, the riffed-out heat-seeking missile of 'Don't Let's Start' and menace-laden munchkin-march 'Shoehorn With Teeth' clinch an early nomination for best band of the decade. What's all this "Might Be" bollocks? They do be giants.
'Anna Ng' kicks off clumsily, garish guitar and abrasive accordian failing to connect with the backstage beatbox clatter. But everything afterwards is a pristine peak, with edited highlights of their barnstorming new album - the party funk of 'Your Racist Friend', sci-fi surealism of "Particle Man' and dancefloor reggae of 'Hearing Aid' - proving that the well is far from dry.
A review of the show by David Rose
David Rose's Gig Diaries, Jan. 9, 2011:
This mad little two piece, backed up on rhythm by a ticking plinth-mounted metronome (!) were totally amazing! A headlong clash of cultures, styles, unorthodox noise and lyrics, played with humour, verve and huge talent by the two Johns, wielding guitar and squeezebox accordion respectively. What a strange, offbeat pair of Brooklyn boys, but what a great gig!"
