Violinsane

I've officially fallen in love with They Might Be Giants.

I've always been a fan, I guess, ever since my dad started blasting Particle Man or Istanbul (Not Constantinople) in the car and we'd drive around singing at the top of our lungs. But then, I just knew those songs. The Holy Trinity, the songs everyone's heard: Particle Man, Istanbul (Not Constantinople), and Why Does The Sun Shine.

Then, one day, a new song came on his iPod. "What's this?" I asked. He then explained the name, the meaning, the point of view, and even started singing it. From the second I heard Birdhouse In Your Soul, I realized that, hey, they're an actual band with more than three songs. And then I looked into it, and I realized that, hey, they're actually a pretty good band. A really good band, in fact. And then I was hooked.

After finding some videos on Youtube  (Why Does The Sun Shine, Purple Toupee, and The Mesopotamians, I believe), I took the plunge and got Here Comes Science.

Don't look at me like that. I like science, and I like TMBG, so why, combined, would they be any less? But I digress. I got the album and suddenly, I felt an affinity for something I hadn't felt since I watched 2001 or my first documentary special on the JFK assassination or, even, listened to The Beatles.

Then I got Flood and The Else, the latter being possibly my favorite album by Them. And then I just got the entire discography, seeing as how I memorized the first three albums, every chord, vocal and drum beat. I then looked for more music videos and found plenty. Don't Let's Start, Ana Ng, I'm Impressed, Istanbul, Meet the Elements, Birdhouse In Your Soul, The Shadow Government, and so many more.

They've been at it for 28 years, now, and they have yet to disappoint me with a single song. Or video, for that matter. Hell, even the lyrics are miles above what a lot of people could do. Plus, they've changed me a bit too. Whenever I hear a song I love and want to dance, I always tell myself, "Don't even try. You'll just embarrass yourself. You know you can't dance." But now, I think of the videos for Purple Toupee and Don't Let's Start, and another voice will pop up: "So?"

I mean, come on. Don't you wish you were this awesome?

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In fact, I'm gonna learn to play the accordion just so I can Purple Toupee that shit.

Go ahead, laugh. Go ahead, smirk. Go ahead, brandish your Clash and Sex Pistols albums while yelling that I don't know what punk is. The fact remains that she is.

So she doesn't sound punk, she sounds like tons of other artists out there, you might say, and that's true; however, find me one punk band or artist that was completely unique in their sounds. See? Sure, she's doing what others are doing, but she's doing it her own way. 

So she doesn't look punk, she doesn't have the ripped up jeans and the leather jackets and the spiked hair and whatever else defines 'punk' these days, you might say. Yeah, but do you see anyone else dressing like her? Do you see her blatantly copying others' styles? No. You see her borrowing from others, drawing inspiration from the glam movement of the 70s and 80s, among others. But don't truly great artists steal things from other people? 

The point is that, sure, she doesn't look or act or sound 'punk' as it's defined today, but she does her own thing. She makes things up and wings it as she goes along, she isn't afraid to be seen in public with outrageous clothes on. She's doing it for attention, of course, but isn't that what punk's always been about underneath? 

So, I've spent the last two days listening to a steady stream of punk rock and jazz. Louis Armstrong and Johnny Rotten are where it's at, man.

Anyway, I've decided that I do not belong in this time period at all. I would feel right at home in the thirties, with the pin curls and corsets and dance-tastic music. In the forties, I would do a great job fitting in with my extensive knowledge of war planes (okay, maybe that's a stretch). The fifties? My upbeat and, again, dance-tastic attitude wouldn't stick out any, what with the rock and roll and jukeboxes and random song and dance outbursts--wait, that's Grease. That's the fifties, right? Ahh, here's the sixties: America's piece de resistance. John F. Kennedy, the Space Race, the Beatles, the counterculture, the fashions, Bob Dylan, 2001: A Space Odyssey, the general feeling of, "Yes, America. We CAN do this" would be great for my self-esteem. Plus, the Beatles??? Now it's time for the seventies; still riding on the high from my hippie adventures, I would arrive in the seventies to be simply re-excited by the glam movement  (David Bowie in tights, anyone?), and the Ramones and the Sex Pistols and the entire punk counterculture. That F#%k you! attitude is just what I need. Here's where it starts to fall apart though, because by the eighties, punk has taken a turn for the worse and metal's taken its place (I do kinda like metal, but it's nothing compared to the soothing sounds of Joey Ramone's voice and the relaxing sight of skinny British men in tight pants), the Sex Pistols have broken up, John Lennon's dead, and I'm pretty sure this is around the point where the Ramones started hating each other. So, up until the eighties, my master plan of kidnapping the Doctor and hijacking the TARDIS to deposit me in the 1930s seems to work out okay.