I think everyone has that band. You probably started listening to them in high school, when you were sufficiently dramatic to adopt a band for life. You know the lyrics to every song. Every album of theirs speaks to a time in your life, and seeing them in concert is like flipping through random pages in your photo album.
I say that because I you to understand how much I love They Might Be Giants. I have been a fanatical fan of theirs since 1990, which is, of course, when I started high school. I own every album, every EP, every crazy side project. I bought The Else on iTunes, then I bought the limited edition 2-disc CD.
I see them in concert every time they are in town, every time I can get tickets. I have seen them now, I think, six times? And understand, I hate concerts. There are very few bands I am willing to stand through. Ask my wife how many times I’ve told her sorry I know you bought my ticket but I just can’t tolerate concerts.
When they started touring for The Else I checked their site every time they sent an update on their mailing list to see if they had a Seattle date yet. When they did, I bought tickets that day, even though it was a 14 and up show, even though it was on a Wednesday, and even though I knew I would likely end the night in jail for putting my fist through a kid who gets right in front of me, keeps bumping me with his elbow, and who keeps yelling “Particle Man!”
As the concert date loomed I literally began to dread going. I actually thought several times of not going, and just letting the tickets go to waste. I specifically got cash to take a cab so I couldn’t get stressed out about parking and got sufficiently medicated to ensure I could remain calm in the face of adversity.
I entered the Moore theater and to my surprise there were seats. It was open seating, like a movie theater. Due to a weird design issue there was a little section a few rows back on the side that was separated from the rest of the seats by a little wall. It was like having an executive suite. It was an awesome and amazing surprise. Just not having to stand was going to make the show so much more tolerable.
The opening act came out. It was this guy with a guitar and a keyboard who looked like the young Guy Kawasaki, and this guy who looked like Penny Arcade’s Jerry Holkins (AKA Tycho) with a big white guy ‘fro, wearing this crazy maroon suit with a pink striped shirt under it. He was the singer. He came up to the mic and announced, “We’re not They Might Be Giants. We’re known as Harvey Danger.”
I was like what? Seriously? A band I’ve actually heard of? I mean, even if they sucked they’d still be better than your average opening band. And you know what? They didn’t suck. They were amazing. I decided that I was going to hit the booth after the show and buy any albums or EPs they had for sale. I didn’t even want to risk them not being on iTunes because this is a band worth checking out.
After a short and very sweet set, They Might Be Giants came on and played the best show of theirs I have ever seen. Hell, it was the best show of anyone I’ve ever seen, period. They’re music was tight, and they did a great mix of old stuff and new stuff, and even played the fan service classics, Birdhouse and Particle Man. I actually stood, willingly, and danced and bobbed and sang along to every single song.
They sang this amazing rendition of the alphabet of nations song from Animaniacs. They did the conga line. They swore up a storm, which surprised me because usually they only swear at 21+ shows. John Flansburg announced in this extremely funny monologue that they had done a limited pressing in an obsolete format. That is to say, they actually produced a double-fold 12” LP record. Each one was autographed by everyone in the band and they were selling them at the show.
Flansburg even joked he would be in the lobby selling them personally, but cash only, no change, no credit cards. Hilarity! I thought, I should blog about how iTunes wants me to buy the same song three times and I’m all pissed off about it but They Might Be Giants is about to sell me the same album for the third time and I could not be happier. They did two encores and we were rocked out and ready to go home and it was not even 11 p.m. That is some efficient rock and roll.
I rushed to the vending counter because most times they’ve had some special album at a show it’s sold out fast and I’ve had to go through tremendous trouble and expense to obtain it. As I was waiting to give the guy my money for anything he was willing to sell me, a guy kind of pushed his way through the crowd. Excuse me, he said, as he went past me. I was almost in the corner where the booth met the wall, but the guy now occupied that space, such that if somebody pushed me, I’d be crushing him against the wall. His face was mere inches from mine. I just stared at the guy. I was flabbergasted, not because he was rude, but because he was JOHN FUCKING FLANSBURG.
You have to imagine this. You have to imagine one of the two founding members of your favorite band of all time—a band you just go embarrassingly fanboy over—a guy whose voice has been the soundtrack of your life for over half your life—and he’s standing right next to me.
It actually happened in slow motion, like the time I spun out in my Supra and hit the wall, except instead of saying “this is about to get really bad” I was saying “this is about to get really amazing.” Time stopped because I was about to have the most amazing fanboy musical life experience of all time ever.
Flansburg said to the vendor, let me have a stack of vinyl and I opened my wallet (the one that says “Bad Mother Fucker” on it) and pulled out my cab fare because the man said cash only exact change no plastic and I was going to follow that. And the vendor refused to hand him the records.
The vendor went batshit and was loud and indignant about how this is his job to sell this stuff and I don’t care who you are and if you are going to pull something like this you need to let me know in advance and right now this is not your shit this my shit and I am going to be the only one selling my shit.
Flansburg stared at him like, seriously? I am on tour, after a show, fucking exhausted and even though what I really want to do is go to my hotel room and crash I want to do something cool for the fans and sell some of “your shit,” thus helping you make money, and you are giving me this? Fuck this.
His anger and humiliation just hung there in the lobby as everyone stood there daddy just hit mommy and we are just trying to keep eating, keep eating. He turned away in disgust. I was so confused, I tried to hand him my $20 bill anyway but he didn’t even look at me. He cut through the crowd and was gone.
The vendor was like fuck whatever what can I get you? I looked at him and had a brief moment of crisis because I really, really wanted that record and this my only chance and if I don’t get one now I may never get and one, you know what? “No. Just, no,” I said and turned and walked out of the theater.
So that’s where the story ends. The best concert of my life was just about to culminate in this amazing experience and just like that some prick vendor ruined it. He robbed me of my chance to own this record. He robbed me of my fanboy moment. He robbed me of the simple pleasure of not seeing one of my musical heroes humiliated right in front of me.
You know why iPod and iTunes have risen to the tremendous position of power they occupy currently? Because Steve Jobs, more than anyone else in the business, knows that music is life and life is music and you don’t fuck with a man’s music.
I don’t know what else to say, and I certainly don’t know what else to do, about this. I’m really just still in shock.
I thought, I should blog about how iTunes wants me to buy the same song three times and I’m all pissed off about it but They Might Be Giants is about to sell me the same album for the third time and I could not be happier.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
They Might Be Insulted
