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Why Rock and Funny Just Don't Mix
by Bob Hill
The Barenaked Ladies embody a lot of what’s wrong
with rock ‘n’ roll music these days. I’m not saying every song they’ve ever
written is pure drivel. That one about the old apartment is sort of catchy and
every now and again I catch myself bebopping to “It’s All Been Done.”
It’s more of a big-picture issue. See, the Barenaked Ladies are—for lack of a better way of putting it—silly. They’re slapstick-happy and sandlot-safe. And a lot of their lyrics read like teatime at the Romper Room, which is, quite frankly, really irritating.
To wit: "I could hide out under there / I just made you say 'Underwear.'"
Bleck.
I mean, if this is the type of angle we’re going for, why not just sing the word “poopie” 15 times or more? Maybe mix it up with “poopie in my pants” every now and again. Same difference, right?
It wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t an audience for that type of thing. But there is. The Barenaked Ones have a considerable fanbase (at least they used to). And no matter how many times they play “Pinch Me” live, the crowd continues to eat it up.
There are other examples from the BNL canon, like the “Chickity China, the Chinese Chicken” refrain from “One Week” or the line “I’m so chill / No wonder it’s freezing” from “Falling for the First Time.” But again, this speaks to a much larger issue.
And the issue is this: Rock music and funny just don’t mix.
Never have. Never will.
That’s precisely why you’ll never hear anyone refer to “Weird Al” Yankovic’s music as “timeless,” why guys like Kinky Friedman will always exist on the fringe, why a great show like WKRP in Cincinnati only lasted four seasons.
Rock ‘n’ roll is serious business. It’s about grit and guts, struggle and adversity, triumph and tribulation, love and loss. It’s about the grand themes that govern our lives and keep this crazy world spinning round. Rock music should make you want to drink or drug, fight or fuck, cry or create, to charge through walls of great granite.
It is—after all—devil music, is it not?
That’s not to say that rock 'n' roll isn’t about joy or
redemption, that great music shouldn’t inspire or amuse. 
But it is to say that cheesy, lighthearted fare
really has no place in that arena.
Give that type of music its own genre. Call it “recess rock” or “elevator casual.”
Call it Jimmy Buffett, if you like. ‘Cause that’s really what it boils down to.
Don’t get me wrong. Jimmy Buffett is a talented guy with a string of hits to his credit. But his music sounds like adult contemporary masquerading as acoustic rock. And the whole parrothead thing feels like Mardi Gras for golf enthusiasts—dress up like Hawkeye Pierce, pour a Captain and Coke, and knock around a beach ball for an hour or two.
Be safe. Be predictable. Get home in time for Letterman.
Throw your fist in the air and high-five one another to “Why Don’t We Get Drunk (and Screw)” and belt that shit out like it speaks to something buried deep down in the pit of your soul. But please don’t call it rock ‘n’ roll.
That goes for the next generation of Buffetteers as well—spinning Jack Johnson till the trust fund runs dry. Jack Johnson—much like Dave Matthews—is talented, but he inhabits a space in music reserved for post-grad barbecues and sorority luaus.
It’s light and it’s loose and it’s happy-hour friendly. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. But it sure ain’t rock ‘n’ roll.
Never was. Never will be.
There is, of course, a place for humor in rock music. But those who excel at it are more cunning and self-aware, drawn to subtext. Dylan’s lobbed more veiled insults over the years than most people have softballs. Remember when he quipped, “I received your letter yesterday / About the time the doorknob broke,” or that time he waxed poetic about the leopard-skin pillbox hat? There are layers to Dylan, like coats on a canvas. And in many cases, you have to strip them down to the base before you can see the whole picture.
Dylan is art and he’s rock ‘n’ roll and he’s humorous in the sense that we’re all in on the joke. But unlike a one-liner that hits you square in the funny bone once or twice before losing its appeal, Dylan creates a kaleidoscope where a line, stanza, or even an entire song can take on a completely different look or feel depending on the context.
That’s not only satire, it’s brilliant.
The same can be said for the Kinks’ “Lola” or Dire Straits’ “Sultans of Swing.” The same can be said about “One Night Stand” by the Pipettes or “Westby” by Kathleen Edwards. The same can be said about any number of songs by Tom Petty.
The same cannot be said about any song written by John Mayer.
See how it works?
With country music you either laugh or you cry.
Early rap battles were predicated upon one artist’s ability to verbally slam
another, and the blues, well, the name says it all. But when it comes to rock
‘n’ roll, you need to earn some points for style before you can even consider
serving up a side of sarcasm.
And while punk is definitely a form of rock ‘n’ roll, punks get a pass on the whole “silly” thing because they are—for lack of a better way of putting it—punks. The Ramones have carte blanche when it comes to penning tunes about teenage lobotomies in much the same way the Dead Milkmen are free to sing about bitchin’ Camaros and retards at the zoo.
Blink 182, on the other hand, should have been prohibited from making music altogether. Blink made videos around the turn of the century that were so horrendously unfunny they caused me to doubt the existence of a god. Blink 182 is silly without being smart. Blink is dudes in banana suits and posturing and Tiger Beat pin-ups. Blink 182 is bubblegum pop for suburban soccer chicks. Punk rock rejects them on principle.
In the end maybe it’s just a matter of what one person finds clever or entertaining as opposed to another. There’s obviously a precedent for acting goofy and going for the cheap laugh as a means of achieving celebrity. But sooner or later that type of thing has a way of catching up with you. Just ask the Barenaked Ladies. On May 6th of this year, they released their first children’s CD, entitled Snack Time.
Funny how things work out, isn’t it?
--PirateJohn--
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