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- Stump The Band
- Sympathy For The Devil
- Your Racist Friend
- The Statue Got Me High
- Purple Toupee
- She's Actual Size
- The Guitar
- My Evil Twin
- See The Constellation
- Dinner Bell
- If I Wasn't Shy
- Whistling in the Dark
- Someone Keeps Moving My Chair
- Dig My Grave
Fan Recaps and Comments:
Review from The Buffalo News (Aug. 13, 1992):
The sellout crowd at the Icon to see They Might Be Giants was made up mostly of college students, and the antics before the show called to mind a school bus trip.
Fans joined in an impromptu group roaring of the theme from "The Brady Bunch." There was a satisfying scent of newly laundered clothes.
By 10:30 p.m. people were packed in so tightly that you could sleep on your feet without falling over. The sound system blared a big fanfare. But They Might Be Giants did not appear. Their tardiness had a few hemmed-in fans grumbling, but that was forgotten when they finally took the stage.
The Brooklyn duo that calls itself They Might Be Giants is the collegiate, pleasantly pudgy John Flansburgh and the only slightly shaggier John Linnell. The neat, bespectacled Flansburgh sings and plays the guitar. Linnell, who has an impish look, plays accordion, saxophone and clarinet.
Both musicians freely pick up other instruments. Four hands can do only so much, though, so the pair was assisted by a bass player, a drummer and a second saxman.
Their music has an Irish-jig singability, a clean-cut beat and a satisfying togetherness. The group got things moving early with a pert rendition of "Your Racist Friend," a funny, sarcastic number off its "Flood" release. Within moments, the place was hopping.
That is, the place was literally hopping. Floors shook with the force of hundreds of slamming sneakers. The loyalty of the group's followers was obvious; everyone knew exactly when to jump and when to stop jumping. Listeners sang along, adding gestures and grinning at each other.
Danceable tunes zinged forth like a fleet of paper airplanes. Among them were "The Statue Got Me High," "Purple Toupee," "She's Actual Size," and a goofy takeoff on the obnoxious oldie "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."
Through it all, the jumping and singing continued. All good fun, I was sure, but only until the behemoth next to me, a giant with a shaved head, jumped up and came down on my foot. I knew then that it was time to adjourn to the adjacent room, which was slightly less jammed.
This connected room seemed to distress the musicians, who expressed frequent concern for the unfortunates who couldn't mash themselves into the main crush. "Spiritually we are with you who are standing on the outside," Flansburgh announced. He had the grace to add, "Spiritually, we are with the people on the inside, too."
The cool night ended with a cornucopia of encores, including "Mammal," "Istanbul Not Constantinople" (which has a cute, Puttin'-on-the-Ritz beat), and "Birdhouse in Your Soul."