As preparation for They Might Be Giants' third interview in four years for the After Dark column (a national record we might add), John Flansburgh fired up his system with sudafed and caffeine.
In a world of popular musicians with all kinds of interesting things to say, Flansburgh and partner John Linnell -- they're the last of the Brooklyn Giants -- rank right up there with the best interviews. That even holds true when Flansburgh has the flu, which is why he's popping cold medicine and chugging coffee while talking by phone from his Brooklyn apartment about Sunday's show at the Water Street Music Hall.
They Might Be Giants is best known for its Istanbul (Not Constantinople), a good-time, novelty hit and, umm, wait a minute, Flansburgh is protesting here...
"We've never been a good-time band or a novelty band," he says. "A lot of people are into what we're doing, which is being a band that has more than one dimension to it. There is a lot of lighthearted material but also a lot of standard-issue rock music that does not necessarily attract the interest of rock reviewers.
"If we could figure out a way to be pretentious art rockers, we would. But we're just a little too self-aware to do that. So we figured out a style of music we could live with."
That sounds like the sudafed talkin'. From first-hand experience, I'll tell you what it is that critics like about They Might Be Giants: obscure references in songs, like Birdhouse's Longines Symphonette Society. Anyone who's approaching age 40 will remember those old TV commercials featuring a distinguished looking English guy -- the Longines Symphonette Society spokesman -- and the Society's aim of filling every American home with mail-order classical music records.
Of course, not everyone -- including They Might Be Giants' college-age fans -- understands such an obscure reference.
"The thing about writing a song, is it's a very public act, but it's also a personal act," says Flansburgh. "For example, I understand everything that comes out of a politicians mouth, but that doesn't make them interesting. I don't understand half the things coming out of a pop band's mouth, but they're still extremely interesting. You don't have to spell something out to be of value to an audience. And we've found an audience that seems to appreciate that they're not being spoon fed."
And I'm telling you, folks, that audience is full of maniacs. No one ever questions what the Prince of After Darkness says (men have donated their heads to medical science at my request). But one simple paragraph announcing the local appearance of They Might Be Giants ignited the band's fans to fill the email here with rants about some perceived slight of their favourite band.
"I am utterly sick of the priggish, close-minded people that automatically dub TMBG as 'quirky' without doing their homework," was one email comment I read to Flansburgh. "TMBG fans aren't always moody, angry-at-the-world loners. They are almost always intelligent, fun, and happy people that just want to try and brighten someone's day."
This was signed by a woman at the University of Oklahoma who identified herselfas editor of Splink! Neither Flansburgh nor I subscribe to Splink!, but it appears to be some kind of specialized publication for moody, angry-at-the-world loners.
"What we're doing is pretty much our personal trip," says Flansburgh. "It's not even that audience-focused. The idea of spreading happiness to strangers' lives seems pretty insane. I can't even figure out how to spread happiness into my own life."
But they'll do their best for their fans with the late-January release of The Early Years, a two-CD retrospective of the band's early work and obscurities that includes the acoustic polka Hope I Get Old Before I Die and the TMBG "Dial-A-Song" classic, Mainstream USA, with it's chorus, "Mainstream USA/I flipped that guy the bird."
"I have to pretend we have no audience for what we're doing just to feel free enough to write songs," says Flansburgh. "The more kaleidoscopic we can make our records, the more they'll like it. It's escapist.
"Our secret weapon is the songs are melodic. The fact that they're catchy songs and have enigmatic lyrics on top of it, that's our Trojan Horse."
Of course, the Trojan Horse wasn't merely a door. It was a trap.
"We're not for everybody," coos Flansburgh in the self-assured tones of the Longines Syphonette Society spokesman. "We're just for you."
Should we say Trojan whores?