They Might Be Giants have defied description for just short of 30 years, and one-half of the duo, John Flansburgh, says they've only achieved this by doing what makes them happy.
The band -- Massachusetts natives Flansburgh and John Linnell -- has just released their 15th official studio album, Join Us, and can claim two Grammys, one for the theme to the television show Malcolm in the Middle and one for their children's album Here Come the 123s.
They Might Be Giants will perform at The Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center on Friday, Sept. 9, at 8 p.m.
The two Johns have marched their own path in the music business, forging a sound that is unique and recognizable when compared to any others. Their embrace of musical styles that span the 20th Century -- and their expertise at enacting these appropriations -- has kept some people on the outside guessing about their musical genre.
The default for some has been "novelty," and even after three decades, that's been a challenge for the band to overcome -- if they actually care to.
"I don't spend a lot of time trying to figure out what people think of us," said Flansburgh. "I think at a distance, I'm vaguely horrified by the categories that we reside in. I think what we're doing is basically ambitious and essentially artistic, and not to be too selfaggrandizing, legitimate. But from a distance, it sort of seems like we're filed in the broader category of 'funny music,' which I think for some people undermines even listening to it with an open mind. I feel like our songs hold up to repeated listening just as well as anybody else's songs, and in some cases better."
At the beginning of their career, the two were just indulging in their own interests, which may set them apart from their contemporaries in 1980s New York City. Even in such a weird music scene as that, They Might Be Giants stood out.
"We are in our own bubble," Flansburgh said, "but I have to say looking back on the format that we started with, which is John playing the accordion and me playing the guitar and we played with a drum machine, I realize how that that profile is pretty conspicuous. Nobody's going to say 'THAT kind of band -- drum machine, accordion, guitar,' or maybe they know exactly what kind of band it is, which is a nutty band, but for us, I think we really felt like we were writing rock songs and all of the instrumentation was different."
Despite the inability of reviewers to categorize them, it's never been a doubt to They Might Be Giants exactly what type of band they are, and they've moved ahead with their own definition with energy.
"We always felt like a rock band," said Flansburgh. "We would play in rock clubs. It wasn't like we played at the folk club, it wasn't like we played at the comedy club -- we played at the rock club and there was a reason why. There was a lot of energy and a lot of volume. We knew what it was. And as somebody said, if it's about being funny, we should be a whole lot funnier."
Much of the novelty element in the bands' sound stemmed from practical time considerations very early on in their career, and Flansburgh admits their choices of padding were probably a little different from other bands. "When we first started touring we found ourselves in this weird predicament of having to do very long shows," he said. "We'd get contracted to play for two hours at a night club, and our songs are a minute-and-ahalf, two minutes long, and we had 30 songs in our repertoire, so we learned all these songs."
"Half the covers in our repertoire started at the exact same place -- we learned how to play 'Istanbul' and 'Why Does The Sun Shine' basically just to extend our show. It was very odd, but it was a practical thing. But quite specifically we played at a place called the Kingside Inn in Norfolk, Va., where I believe some people swore at us."
If their influences seem eclectic -- name one other rock band who has covered one of Walt Kelly's Pogo songs -- Flansburgh shrugs off the idea that this is an incredible achievement. In the era he and Linnell grew up in, the tools were there for any kid to be eclectic. They were literally floating in the airwaves on UHF.
"In that sense, we're just like all suburban kids from the 20th Century -- we grew up with television, we grew up seeing a wide range of stuff," he said. "The way people talk about their influences you'd think everyone lives in these cave communities. Everybody hears the world of music, even if you drink coffee in diners you'll hear various arrays of music that will catch your ear. It's all there." It's the band's ability to channel this childhood ether that has lead to success in the world of children's music. Rather than pandering to what kids enjoy now, Flansburgh and Linnell pull from childhoods long past to craft something immediate and goofy and unpredictable for a new generation. Who would have expected children's music to be the ticket to creative expansion?
"When we first did the kids' record, it felt like a healthy way to expand our musical horizons because it was such an open writing assignment," Flansburgh said. "It wasn't about trying to figure out how to write a single or figure out how to fit into some radio thing, which had been on our minds for a few years just because that's where you land when you're a popular recording group, so it's nice to have a respite from that kind of thinking, to do a kind of psychedelic record was interesting."
The band's future still looks bright. The sweeping changes that have decimated the major record labels have made this band's experience more pleasant in a way that bolsters one of their central ethos -- it's about the work, not about a get-rich-quick scheme.
"The only people that are left now are true believers," Flansburgh said. "That's the thing that's nice about the music implosion. You find out who actually loves doing it. There's no reason to be in music now. The people who are in it for money have all moved onto something else."
Despite what you hear about plummeting CD sales, the need for merchandise if a band is going to make a profit and touring as the center of a band's income, They Might Be Giants still makes money the old fashioned way -- selling music.
"The margins are not so terrible in that there's more profit and less returns on MP3s," said Flansburgh. "The business of selling music, of selling recordings, is not what it once was, that's for sure. We've been on a pretty hardy uptick for a decade, and it's probably just due to the fact that we care. I'm not sure. We sell more than we used to. I can't explain that." Flansburgh and Linnell have crafted a career path that has required little compromise or efforts to streamline their sound. In an unpredictable business, They Might Be Giants have managed to stay happy by staying unpredictable -- and keeping to themselves.
"If you look at the people who really make a big splash in this world, it's the crazies," Flansburgh said. "Music is for crazy people. Music is for people who get into fights and get into lawsuits and have drama. Those are the people that really get noticed in this world. We're kind of quiet guys. We stick to ourselves. There's not a lot of controversy in the world of They Might Be Giants."