That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore

A wise soul once said, “there’s a fine line between stupid and clever.” If that’s the case, Ween has made a career of dancing precariously on that line, as evidenced by their show at DAR Constitution Hall last Wednesday.

I’m not a Ween fan. I haven’t thought much about them since the mid-90s, when anyone who watched MTV’s 120 Minutes was bound to hear that annoying ditty about “pushing up the little daisies.” But a relationship is about compromise. This was retribution for many an indie rock show Yo Han has suffered through.

Ween say in interviews they want to be taken seriously, that they’re not a “joke” band. There are those who would compare Ween to perennial gimmick band  (and an old favorite of mine) They Might Be Giants. But they would be wrong.

They Might Be Giants appealed to nerdy, tubby band kids who liked clever wordplay and got beat up with some regularity. Ween appeals to the people who beat up those kids. Ween is the inner 12-year-old in all of us. They are the “obnoxious, funny, true and mean” guy Liz Phair sung about. I must hand it to the nitrous balloon dealers who lined the streets before and après show: they knew their target market. To wit:

I admit that I’m pre-disposed to dislike most of what I see at DAR. I’ve decided that seeing a show at that venue is a little like having sex at a B&B. A good time can be had. But there’s something off about the atmosphere. I find sex near lace doilies and pink floral wallpaper unsavory. Similarly, I find the plush seats, crown molding and theater attendants at DAR ill matched for a rock show.

The Opposite Of Sex

Still, the crowd managed to transcend the shitty venue. After all, Ween are amazingly competent musicians, with a very loyal fan base that dates back. A line of well-mannered women who couldn’t have been any younger than 55 sat politely in the row in front of me and mouthed the words to almost every song. I wish I didn’t have to witness this, but one pumped her fist in the air in solidarity to the line “she’s gonna get her Master’s Degree in fucking me!”

Almost a week later, I still can’t wrap my mind around the weird incongruities of that show. Maybe I’ll chalk it up to the duality of man. The Jungian thing, sir. Or maybe that’s just Ween.