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Tickets were $16.50 in advance and $17.50 on the day of the show.

"Quirky love songs, social commentary drive fans wild" by Barry Walters
San Francisco Examiner, Mar. 26, 1990:

If someone asks you what the smart, well-bred youth of the Bay Area are listening to lately, you could do worse then reply, "They Might Be Giants."

The crowd at the Warfield Friday night that turned out to see They Might Be Giants looked more like a prep school honor society than a throng of ordinary rock fans. Almost all the audience members looked as if they were from the same blond/blue-eyed gene pool, not yet graduated from college and born of parents in a significant income bracket. If a fight broke out (an unlikely occurence for this peaceful bunch), the floor might have been stained with blue blood.

The men of They Might Be Giants, John Flansburgh and John Linnell, also seemed in awe of their fans. From the looks on their faces, the musicians appeared to have never before played in a hall the size of the Warfield to so many screaming clean-cut kids. One of the Johns even complained that because of the hollering, which greeted each spoken introduction, he couldn't hear his pre-recorded cue.
This is what happens when modern-rock radio station "Live 105" and MTV get behind an up-and-coming act: A band with records that sell in the thousands gets a better reception in this town than those that sell in the millions elsewhere. This enthusiasm is particularly remarkable considering the nature of TMBG's music. Flansburgh, the bespectacled John on the left side of the Warfield stage, struck stuttering guitar chords heavy with fuzzy distortion. Linnell, the thinner John on the right, squeezed notes out of his accordion. Both sang with whiney voices. Metronomes placed on pedestals clicked out time. Backing tapes completed the orchestration. The result mixed psychedelic punk, bar mitzvah polka and kiddie cartoon soundtracks in two-minute blasts.

The crowd recognized practically every miniature composition in the compact, 25-song set. Fans in front of the stage even went so far as to sing and bunny-hop in unison to TMBG's wacky din. The lyrics, which on the surface seem nonsensical and silly but are often quite poignant and sad, weren't lost on the audience, who looked touched by the music, not just stimulated. Quirky love songs and social commentary by goofy underdogs can be more empowering than the mighty arena rock of headbanger bands with big hair and small minds.
Flansburgh, the extrovert of the pair, stalked around the stage, playing at being a guitar rock god as a kindergartner might. Linnell, his movements limited by his bulky accordion, occasionally raised his hands to strike a theatrical pose. His face wore the same hangdog expression the entire night. Taking turns at the mic with Flansburgh, he deadpanned his way through "Youth Culture Killed My Dog," Someone Keeps Moving My Chair" and others, including the current MTV-hit, "Birdhouse In Your Soul."

This drew such a crazed reception, the band seemed scared. "This next number is called 'Cowtown,'" said Flansburgh. "You can square dance, but please don't slam dance." The audience obeyed, but then lost control during "Don't Let's Start." Halfway through the encore of "Hideaway Folk Family," Flansburgh gave the cue to "scream as if you're in hell." This, the kids didn't need to be told.