Sound Check — Geoff Carter: Let’s put the band They Might Be Giants into perspective

Friday, Oct. 1, 1999 | 8:51 a.m.

Geoff Carter's music column appears Fridays. Reach him at carter@vegas.com

They Might Be Giants -- TMBG for short -- are responsible for three of the most disturbing songs I've ever heard. The first one, "Don't Let's Start," is a love-gone-bad number, the third verse of which declares "Everybody dies frustrated and sad," and which ends with the beleaguered lover crying out "I don't want to live in this world any more." The second song, "Turn Around," is a fantasia of nightmarish imagery that runs from a train engineer whose face is "a paper white mask of evil" to being buried alive. Last but not least, there's "I Palindrome I," an ode to Greek mythology ("I am a snake head eating the head on the opposite side") and patricide.

And by the by: the first number is an uptempo synth-pop track, the second is a Cajun stomp (complete with accordion), and the third is a British Invasion-styled, chipper rock number. You can sing them, even bob your head and snap your fingers to them, without realizing you're in the grip of absolute evil. In other words: There may be worms in the wood, but core Giants John Linnell and John Flansburgh aren't about to let you see them. That's what tablecloths are for.

You would think that such fresh-faced perversity would make TMBG a hit with the kids, but no: In most circles, to declare a love for the music of TMBG is equivalent to donning a propeller hat. The band's Sept. 25 show at the Hard Rock Joint was attended by a slight crowd of less than 400 people, about half of whom seemed to have no mortal idea what they were doing there.

Perhaps they were drawn by the promise of hearing the singles from the group's 1990 album hit "Flood," "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and "Instanbul, Not Constantinople" -- to my knowledge, the band's first and only bonafide hits. Or maybe, just maybe, they were dragged there by some overeager propeller-head. In whatever case, an explanation is due these befuddled folks, one that puts TMBG in perspective.

Here goes: They Might Be Giants are to popular music what Joel and Ethan Coen are to film. The band's eponymous 1986 debut is an irreverent, literate classic, much like the Coen's "Blood Simple" -- and like the Coens, TMBG made the most of what it had: two guys, two guitars, a keyboard, an accordion and a drum machine that somehow manage to sound like a whole band o' post-punk gypsies.

TMBG's lyrics are intelligent -- sometimes too intelligent. Just as the subtleties of the Coen's "The Big Lebowski" soared over the heads of its audience, the clever wordplay of TMBG's "Subliminal" ("Subliminal -- in an unnoticeable way") seems too much like work to the uninitiated. The song is, basically, one killer hook, but it hardly matters to most, because the other way is easier. Statistically, most people prefer "Independence Day" to "Fargo" -- the former has explosions, visual effects and Will Smith, while the latter can only offer Steve Buscemi, dialogue, and more dialogue. And with a funny accent, too.

So TMBG plays on, even as the last members of the huge grass-roots audience the band built at the beginning of the decade desert them for -- what? Who? It probably doesn't help that the band hasn't made a wholly accessible record since 1992's "Apollo 14." Then again, judging from the band's set last Saturday, another commercial breakthrough would seem to be the last thing on the band's collective mind. At least half the set was comprised of songs from their MP3-only release "Long Tall Weekend," which most of the crowd had yet to hear, and tracks from an upcoming release, which no one knew at all. "Birdhouse" was played as the absolute last song of the night.

For nearly any other pop band, such willful defiance would be entirely out of the question. But They Might Be Giants ain't Smashmouth. Like a pair of avant-garde filmmakers, the only compromises they make are those that allow them to go on creating, to explore new ground. If that idealism makes a geek, mail me my propeller hat and paper-white mask of evil, and watch me join the parade.

Stereo Dynamics

The Folk Implosion, "One Part Lullaby," Interscope

Lo-Fi? What's that? The new CD from critically acclaimed duo The Folk Implosion -- still singer-songwriter John Davis and Sebadoh frontman Lou Barlow -- is as High Fidelity as they come. The cheesy drum machine sounds and new wave sonic treatments are still evident, yet the overall sound of "One Part Lullaby" is as polished as the last Smashing Pumpkins album. It's an astonishing conceit for the duo to take on, but only because -- surprise! -- it works. The record flirts with commercial charm but cuts the encounter short just after the first, lingering kiss.

The scrumptiously funky "E.Z. L.A." seems tailor-made for cruising convertibles, with its dreamy view of the City of Angels -- "It's another beautiful day." But as soon as the car turns a corner, Barlow puts up a brick wall where the beach is supposed to be: "L.A. all right / Cold like a desert at night." The nervous shuffle of "No Need to Worry" opens up into a chorus of angelic cooing.

The band tries to keep things loose -- a snippet of studio dialogue pops up every now again -- but they can't fool us. "One Part Lullaby" is a meticulously assembled pop record. Like the Flaming Lips did with their recent "Soft Bulletin," The Folk Implosion have made an surefire hit within their own idiom, and there's no shame in that. Crank up the hi-fi!

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