MUSIC: The death of irony
eye WEEKLY
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eye WEEKLY October 10, 1996
Toronto's arts newspaper .....free every Thursday
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MUSIC MUSIC
THE DEATH OF IRONY
by
MARC WEISBLOTT
October, 1991: Nirvana's Nevermind was just a few days old. Metallica
were asserting their supremacy with a new album. Guns N' Roses
retaliated with two. And Michael Jackson was about to face the fact
that his fans had become adults without him. Besides, the pop star to
be reckoned with was Paula Abdul -- while a plucky Alanis was
bombarding Canadian malls with a variation on same.
Locally, Steve Anthony, Erica Ehm or Michael Williams were a sure bet
to be anchoring MuchMusic at any given hour, Toronto had access to
three Top-40 AM radio stations and that spot on the dial still called
CFNY was ridden with those blithering busker ditties from the
Barenaked Ladies' unassuming yellow-jacketed demo cassette.
This seemed like the onset of a generational divide, genuine post-
adolescent jauntiness that was the unabashed product of '70s and '80s
suburbia. It did take a few days longer for "Be My Yoko Ono" or "If I
Had $1,000,000" to lose their charm than the average novelty. But
remember, the image of five white goofballs spouting out Public
Enemy's "Fight The Power" was still mildly amusing. And at the very
least, the emotional range of "Brian Wilson" or "Blame It On Me" would
serve well on the songwriting resumes of 21-year-olds Steven Page and
Ed Robertson once this phenomenon crashed and burned.
The wave was still cresting around Thanksgiving weekend, when a rag
called eye Weekly was strewn through the streets. It contained a few
imaginative wastes of paper, including a feature by rogue rock critic
Chris O'Connor about his year in high school with the bespectacled
frontman for the Barenaked Ladies. "I'm not exactly sure what the
point of that article was. At the time, I actually found it very
embarrassing," recalls Steven Page, phoning from a club in Grand
Rapids, Mich. "But anything else from that specific period, I can't
recall -- for me, it's either what happened before or after the record
deal. And, uh, there was an election that year, right? Ah, that's
around the time when June Rowlands became the mayor."
Yes, of course -- and a couple months later the stealth mayor's
minions barred the Ladies from a gig at City Hall for having a name
that "objectifies women," feeding straight into early '92's fervor for
stories that showed political correctness spiralling out of control.
(Reflected in a high-concept January eye cover story, featuring an
illustration of the unclothed Ladies looking laughably svelte. And the
last time they garnered such prominent attention in these pages --
until now.) In the spirit of Canadian broadcasting, CFNY gave them a
thick wad of cash to make a real record (for which they were quick to
land a Time Warner Inc. contract) and they called it Gordon.
Soon there were no less than a million Gordons in circulation across
Canada. And while it's gone on to sell 220,000 copies in the U.S.,
Page figures its bootleg circulation has reached staggering
proportions -- based on their still-swelling attendance figures south
of the border.
When a less irreverent Barenaked Ladies reappeared with 1994's much-
maligned Maybe You Should Drive, they could find little tolerance for
the moodier approach. Naturally, Page has come full circle -- from
practically disowning the work to starting to appreciate it again --
but he feels beyond ever recapturing the wide-eyed view of the popular
culture that formerly fueled him. "I used to participate in this media
consumption thing daily -- at least until I was considered to be
inside it. Now, after a few years, all I can see is how insidious and
gross the whole thing has really become."
ORNERY PIRATES
Born On A Pirate Ship, released earlier this year, is the place where
Barenaked Ladies tried to transcend the machine -- manoeuvring toward
raw emotion instead. (I think the review I wrote qualifies as mixed,
but don't they all?) "I think it's time for irony to die," ponders
Page. "To live in this land of meaningless pastiche can't be such a
good thing."
Naturally, Page has reached the point where he prefers a good book by
a grown-up (most recently, Sabbath's Theater by Philip Roth). "You can
go out and buy 20 new records, but, these days, what are the odds
these records are gonna be any good? I was at the Pop Explosion in
Halifax a few weeks ago, and I was encouraged by what I saw -- plus, I
was surprised that the people there were so nice to aging corporate
rockers like us -- but I think we just narrowly made the cut. We got
in there just as the floodgates were opening.
"On the other hand, I can't help but feel guilty when I see friends in
their late 20s who are just starting to get decent jobs now -- after
having to move back in with their parents and stuff.
"What I've seen are people just getting more and more bitter. I'm
teaching myself to find a brighter outlook. And, going back to the
goofy days, I think about some of the songs we did like 'Box Set' or
'New Kid On The Block' -- about what little hope I had for our image
for the long haul -- and I catch myself saying, 'See, I told you so.'
"
The only tune that Page refuses to ever perform again is "McDonald's
Girl," which was a cover version of a song by some limey, anyway.
While he shudders at thoughts of having to play "Grade 9," he defers
to the other members' partiality to its instrumental charms. And while
the latter song figures in the soundtrack to Mighty Ducks 3, it's
apparently not part of the career overview collected on the
forthcoming live disc, Rock Spectacle. "We crank out the hits with as
little crowd noise as possible," promises Page. "And we save all the
stage patter 'til the end, because we know it can get annoying."
This release suggests the Ladies want to harmonize their fairweather
Canadian following -- where Page concedes Pirate Ship has already run
out of steam -- with the more earnest attitude of the American
audiences who were never subject to Barenaked overkill. "Most of what
people write about us is the same thing, though," reflects Page. "They
just rewrite the official bio, usually badly. Reviews are a lot more
interesting -- especially when the New York Times compares us to early
Bruce Springsteen and Loggins & Messina, two things which I've never
listened to in my entire life. The college papers almost always like
us -- it's the weeklies who tend to be the nastiest. It's those
writers who are out of college, who stand there and sneer at the
people who paid to see our shows."
Well, here's where we come clean and admit that, over the past five
years of writing countless puff pieces that gushed over all creatures
great and small, we never gave the Barenaked Ladies a fair shake.
Which seems especially rude when you consider that, in terms of their
evolution, they probably reflect our collective experiences of trying
to be something in this town as well as a band possibly could.
"Yeah, this is a weird stage in life to reach, definitely," concurs
Page. "You see these new stars in music or movies or hockey players --
or even these Playboy Playmates born in, like, 1974 -- and you realize
that they are all your age. Well, at least getting a little bit older
will give me the chance to grow into my body -- I figure that I've
always had the body of a 45-year-old, anyway."
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