Welcome to the Deep Dive, where we cut through
the noise and give you that quick, fascinating
shortcut to being, well, deeply informed. That's
the goal. And today, yeah, put on your thinking
caps, maybe a jaunty fedora if you have one handy.
We're diving deep into the colossal, the truly
gigantic, four -decade career of John Flansburg
and John Linnell. The core, of course, of They
Might Be Giants, TMBG. Exactly, that pioneering
alternative. rock band. Right. And TMBG is really,
you could say, a masterclass in controlled eccentricity,
their signature style. It's just instantly recognizable,
isn't it? Oh, absolutely. Surreal, intensely
witty. And often experimental, you know, defined
by Flansburg's very distinctive guitar work and
then Linnell's unconventional instruments. Like
the accordion, woodwinds. Yeah, stuff that essentially
just rejects the standard rock lineup altogether.
Okay, let's unpack this then. We hear that term
geek rock thrown around a lot with TMBG, but
they were really trailblazers, aren't they? Making
intellectual curiosity sound, well, commercially
viable. That's a great way to put it. So our
mission today, chart the course of the Johns.
We'll look at their surprisingly structured backgrounds
right through to their breakthrough successes.
We're going to focus on that unique partnership
they have, how complementary they are, and the
groundbreaking tech they basically invented.
Dialy song. Can't talk TMBG without it. Exactly.
And then their stunning pivot into children's
music, which nobody saw coming. Well, maybe some
people did, given their style. Fair point. And
just how these two high school friends turn into
this, this multimedia powerhouse, Grammy winning,
redefining how bands even connect with their
fans. And for you, the listener, this isn't just,
you know, a band history. Yeah. It's really a
shortcut, a way to understand how creative control,
that sort of entrepreneurial thinking and just
sheer persistence let TMBG not just survive the
music industry. Which is brutal. Incredibly.
but how they actually built their own kind of
sovereign musical nation. Love that. OK, let's
start right at the beginning then. Section one,
the parallel lives and unique partnership of
the Johns. Yeah. And what's fascinating here,
I think, is that while they ended up being this
near perfect creative synthesis, their initial
paths, they showed two really distinct individuals,
both driven, it seems, by structure and creativity,
sort of destined to intersect. They were born
just a year apart, right? Linnell in 59, Flansburg
60. Both kind of in that New York, Massachusetts
orbit. And they first crossed paths way back,
attending Lincoln -Sudbury Regional High School
in Lincoln, Massachusetts. But it wasn't like
instant band formation. No, the sources say their
early collaboration was pretty casual. Just,
you know, occasional home recording projects.
Nothing like the foundation we know today. And
the sources, they really reveal a lot about the
different worlds they came from. Which maybe
explains why they eventually took on such complementary
roles in the band. Okay, like how? Well, look
at John Flansburg. He was born in Lexington,
Massachusetts, into this really established,
very visible kind of environment. Right, his
dad was an architect. A major Boston architect,
Earl Flansburg. And his mother, Polly Flansburg,
she founded and was president of Boston by Foot,
a historical organization. Very respected. Okay,
so that immediately suggests a background that's
rooted in like... Creation, organization. And
navigating the public eye. Exactly. Which makes
total sense for the John who became the band's
main strategic manager, the public face, really.
And his academic path kind of reflects that too,
right? That search for structure within the arts.
He went to George Washington University, Antioch
College. And then graduated from Pratt Institute.
prestigious place with an arts degree in 82.
And we also know he learned guitar, working a
pretty unusual job for a future rock star. Oh,
yeah. Parking garage attendant. No way. That's
amazing. OK, so that's Flansburg. What about
Linnell? Meanwhile, John Linnell, born in New
York City, son of a psychiatrist, and his early
musical influences, they really show you where
TMBG's specific lyrical genius comes from. Like
what? He was apparently deeply impressed by Walt
Kelly's Songs of the Pogo album. Ah, okay. The
comic strip guy. Yeah. And specifically, he was
drawn to its heavy use of puns, political satire,
wordplay. That sounds familiar. Exactly. That
early love for high concept, intellectual absurdity,
but paired with these really infectious melodies,
that became Linnell's signature style. You can
hear it right from the start. And Linnell actually
tried to make a go of music earlier, right? Wasn't
he in another band? Yeah, he played keyboards
and sax in a new wave band called The Mundanes.
The Mundanes. Great name. Isn't it? But he actually
dropped out of UMass Amherst to pursue music
seriously with them. The thing is, The Mundanes.
They failed to get a record deal. And that failure,
sources suggest, kind of made him receptive to
trying a completely different approach later
on. And that different approach was sealed by,
well, it sounds like fate, honestly. It really
does. TMBG was officially co -founded in 1982
after they'd been apart for a bit. Linnell and
Flansburg reunited in New York City. Right. And
just by sheer coincidence, they ended up moving
into the exact same apartment building on the
exact same day in Park Slope, Brooklyn. That's...
That's unbelievable. That sounds like something
out of one of their songs almost. Doesn't it?
Like a logistical miracle. So They Might Be Giants
was born out of that reunion. And the name itself,
it's steeped in that intellectual background
they share. Taken from the 1971 film with George
C. Scott. Yep. Which itself references Don Quixote
mistaking windmills for, you know, evil giants.
So what did they mean by it? Well, Flansburg
clarified it. He said the name referred to the
outside world of possibilities that they saw
as this fledgling band, all the potential they
were trying to grasp. It's really a statement
about perception and ambition. Huh. Interesting.
And before they settled on TMBG, they even had
another name. Temporarily. Oh, yeah, for their
very first concert, which, get this, was held
at a Sandinista rally in Central Park. Seriously?
A Sandinista rally? Mm -hmm. And for that one
show, they performed as... El Grupo de Rock and
Roll. El Grupo de Rock and Roll. Which is literally
just Spanish for the rock and roll band. That's
incredibly pragmatic and kind of hilarious. Completely
unromantic, right? Which is funny in itself.
It definitely sets the stage for how they divided
things up later. Let's look at those roles they
carved out. How did that partnership actually
work day to day? Well, the foundation was pretty
straightforward initially. You had Flansburg
on... Rhythm guitar, lead vocals, songwriting.
And Linnell on accordion, keyboards, woodwinds,
lead vocals, also songwriting. Right. And crucially,
for those early years, the third member wasn't
a person. It was a drum machine. or sometimes
a pre -recorded backing tape. Right, the tape
deck years. Exactly. And Linnell, he clearly
operates as the, let's say, technical and conceptual
engine of the band. How so? He focuses on the
technical side, those sophisticated chords, the
complex rhythms, and those just relentlessly
catchy melodies. Can't get them out of your head.
Never. And his lyrical themes are so specific,
you know, centering on wordplay. personification
of inanimate objects. Like birdhouse in your
soul. Perfect example. Or aging, delusional narrators,
unreliable perspectives, often even death. But
he juxtaposes those dark or really esoteric subjects
with these incredibly bouncy, upbeat pop arrangements.
Right. It's that contrast that's so key. Definitely.
Like a Linnell track, Anna Eng, which we'll get
to later. It's a whole conceptual puzzle wrapped
in three minutes of pop. Okay, so Linnell's the
conceptual engine. What about Flansburg? Flansburg
seems to be the strategic and managerial center.
He's the one handling the big picture cultural
context, the promotional strategy, managing the
live show production. The business side, kind
of? More than just business, though. It's the
overall vision, the presentation. And his songwriting
often mixes that absurdist satire think boss
of me with these moments of surprising earnestness
or even romantic introspection. So they balance
each other out perfectly. It really seems that
way. Organizational practicality meets conceptual
depth. And that dive into organizational practicality
mixed with a bit of desperation led directly
to their first really big technological innovation.
The thing that defines their whole legacy, maybe.
Oh, absolutely. Which brings us right into section
two. The revolutionary experiment. Dial -A song.
Dial -A song. It's almost mythological for TMBG
fans. It really is. Yeah. And it's critical to
understand, like we hinted, this wasn't some
grand strategic marketing plan cooked up in a
boardroom. No, it came out of problems, right?
Pure necessity. Physical limitation, actually.
This concept emerged around 1985 during this
forced hiatus. Linnell had broken his wrist in
a biking accident. Ouch. Yeah. And Flansburg's
apartment had been burgled, stuff stolen. So
they couldn't reliably play live shows for a
bit. So what did they do instead of just stopping?
Instead of going silent, Flansburg and Linnell
leveraged the most ubiquitous piece of consumer
tech they could find back then. The telephone
answering machine. An answering machine. With
the little cassette tapes. Exactly. They recorded
new songs onto a cassette, popped it in the machine,
and just started promoting the phone number.
Which was? Do we have it? Oh, yeah. It's Letting
Dairy. 718 -387 -6962. They put it in local papers
like the Village Voice. So anyone could just
call up and hear a new TMB Juice song. Pretty
much. It was this immediate, super low -tech,
direct -to -fan thing, operating 24 -7. The machine
played one track at a time, but the content wasn't
just Polish album stuff. What was on there? It
was a chaotic mix. Demos, half -finished ideas,
band updates, weird mock advertisements, whatever
they'd been working on most recently. It was
literally like a free daily radio show that the
band controlled completely. That's genius. But
I bet the line was busy a lot. Constantly busy.
And the machines themselves were always wearing
out from the constant playback and rewinding.
But that technical flaw. Became a strength. Totally.
It became their greatest marketing hook. They
coined that famous self -deprecating slogan,
always busy, often broken. Ah, I love it. And
they paired it with that legendary, really mischievous
marketing line. Oh, I know this one. Free when
you call from work. That's the one. Classic TMBG,
encouraging office workers everywhere to use
the company phone to listen to their quirky music.
It's a clever little anti -establishment wink,
isn't it? And it obviously resonated. It fostered
this immediate personal connection that traditional
media just couldn't replicate back then. And
there's this incredible anecdote that shows the
level of engagement. Go on. The answering machine
itself, the tape, actually recorded a conversation
between two listeners who were calling in. They
were discussing the service, wondering how on
earth the band made any money from it. And TMBG
heard this. Yep. And the clip was so good, so
meta, they later used it as a hidden track on
one of their EPs. They literally incorporated
their audience's reactions into their official
output. That's amazing fan interaction before
that was even really a term. Exactly. And the
success of Dial A Song, it was foundational.
It let them bypass the whole traditional demo
submission process, build buzz grassroots style.
Which is how they got noticed by Barn Own Records.
Precisely. And secured the release of their self
-titled debut album in 1986. Dial A Song was
the engine. But those poor answering machines,
they couldn't last forever. No. As the 90s wore
on, the limitations just became too much. Physical
cassette tapes, constant rewinding, playback.
The machines started failing constantly. Did
they try to upgrade? They did. They attempted
to switch to digital answering units, but apparently
those frequently crashed too. The strain was
just too intense. The original low -tech model
basically died of old age around 2006. And the
number went dead. The number was officially disconnected
in 2008, the end of an era, Sort of. Sort of.
But knowing them, they didn't just see it as
an end, did they? They just jumped ahead again.
Exactly. This technical death just pushed them
into becoming digital distribution pioneers instead.
How so? Well, they were really early adopters
of podcasting. They essentially replaced the
phone line concept with promotional podcasts,
moving that idea of episodic direct -to -fan
content onto the internet. Okay, makes sense.
But even more critically, back in 1999, this
is huge. They Might Be Giants became the first
major label recording artist to release an entire
album. Long Tall Weekend. That's the one. Exclusively
in the MP3 format through eMusic. 1999. That
was radical then. The industry was terrified
of MP3s. Absolutely terrified. They were fighting
Napster tooth and nail. Yeah. And TMBG just went,
you know what, we'll just sell the album directly
as files. Yeah. It was an incredible piece of
strategic foresight, controlling their own product,
their own distribution. Telling the industry,
we don't actually need your plastic discs and
trucks to get a full album to our fans. Pretty
much. Just gutsy. So Diley's song goes quiet,
but then it comes back. It does. The idea was
just... Too potent, too central to their identity
to leave dormant forever. In 2015, Dai Lei Song
was reactivated. They called it... Dial a song
direct. New number. Yep, a new toll -free number
this time. 844 -387 -6962. And they came back
with this staggering commitment. Oh yeah, the
song a week thing. Releasing one brand new song
every single week for the entire year of 2015.
That's insane output. That's like professional
athlete levels of intensity for musicians. It
really is. And that commitment, that fire hose
of new material, it formed the basis for later
albums like Glean and Phone Power. And they did
it again in 2018, right? Another year of weekly
songs. They did. The lesson... I think, for any
creative person today is just crystal clear.
Consistency and that direct audience access,
it can trump traditional gatekeepers every single
time. Which leads us perfectly into their actual
commercial breakthrough, powered by that dedicated
fan base they built. Section three, commercial
breakthrough and the expanding lineup. Right.
That intense direct relationship they fostered
through Dial A Song. It really did provide the
necessary launch pad for them to break through
into the mainstream rock world. legitimately
that initial success came with the 86 debut on
college radio but the visual element was key
too wasn't it the video for don't let's start
oh huge that video filmed at the iconic slightly
decaying 1964 new york world's fair pavilion
in queens those weird towers yeah It was an absolute
hit on MTV back in 1987. It really put them on
the map visually. And that choice of location
is so perfectly TMBG, isn't it? This monument
to optimism and futurism now kind of quietly
falling apart. Exactly. It's like a backdrop
that mirrors their whole vibe, blending upbeat
melodies with a hint of existential dread or
decay. Their second album, Lincoln, from 88,
named for their Massachusetts hometown that really
cemented their success. It had the single Anna
N. Right, Anna N. That track climbed to number
11 on the U .S. Modern Rock Chart. Big college
hit. But we need to talk about the lyrics, the
concept behind that song. Okay. It's about a
pen pal. Ostensibly, yes. It's presented as a
meditation on a long -lost pen pal, a woman in
Vietnam named Anna Ang. But the lyrical puzzle
is pure Linnell high concept. How so? Flansburg
explained it once. Apparently, Linnell looked
at a globe and literally calculated that if Anna
Eng was in Vietnam, the geographical point directly
opposite her on the globe, the anapode, the viewpoint
of the narrator writing the song, would be somewhere
in Peru. Wow. So it's this intellectual exercise
about distance and connection. Skies is a ridiculously
catchy pop song. Vintage Linnell. That success,
LinkedIn success, that's what got them the major
label deal, right? With Electra Records in 89.
Yep. And that deal, of course, led directly to
their platinum certified magnum opus. Flood,
1990. Flood was just inescapable for a while
there. It had huge charting singles like Birdhouse
in Your Soul. Such a great song. Metaphorical
masterpiece, as you said. Totally. And their
ridiculously popular cover of Istanbul. Not Constantinople.
Everyone knew that one. Everyone. The successive
flood, it really broke them out of just the college
radio bubble and pushed them into genuine mass
culture. And wasn't there a cartoon connection
around then, too? Oh, yeah. Huge boost. Warner
Bros. Animation created two absolutely beloved
cartoon music videos for them on Tiny Toon Adventures.
Right. For Istanbul and Particle Man. Yeah, Particle
Man, Particle Man. Those videos instantly established
them as something cool that appealed to sophisticated
adults and kids who just dug the surreal animation
and catchy tunes. Huge crossover moment. But
signing with Elektra. a major label, it didn't
seem to dull their innovative spirit, did it?
They kept experimenting. Not at all. In fact,
they continued using the album format itself
as this kind of playground for experimentation.
Take 1992. TMBG gets named Musical Ambassadors
for International Space Year. Seriously? That's
a title. Isn't it? And that inspired their next
album, Apollo 18. Okay, Apollo 18. This is where
we get the legendary track. Or tracks. Fingertips.
Fingertips. Which wasn't just a song. It was
more like a conceptual art piece designed specifically
to mess with the then -new CD technology. Specifically
the shuffle feature on CD players. Exactly. Fingertips
was actually made up of 21 separate, extremely
short tracks. Most are under 10 seconds long.
Like little musical thoughts. Little bursts.
And they were designed so that if you put your
CD player on shuffle, these tiny tracks would
be randomly interspersed between the album's
main full -length songs. Creating total chaos
for the listener. Oh yeah. A chaotic, unpredictable
listening experience that was entirely dependent
on the digital hardware you were using. They
were forcing the listener to engage with the
physical medium, the CD itself, in a way no band
had really done before. It's like a bold piece
of anti -album sequencing. Using the technology
against itself, almost. It really showed they
viewed the CD not just as a container for music,
but as this interactive device they could play
with. Okay, so after Apollo 18, there's a big
shift in their live sound, right? They ditched
the tapes. Yeah, that was a fundamental change.
They finally transitioned away from using those
recorded backing tracks for live shows and recruited
a full backing band, a proper rock band setup.
And Flansburg stopped playing bass live. Right.
He moved away from playing bass live, focused
entirely on guitar and vocals, let the new guys
handle the rhythm section. And that shift, you
can really hear it on the next album, can't you?
1994's John Henry. Oh, definitely. John Henry
was a distinct departure. Much more conventional
rock sound, louder, way more guitar heavy. Some
fans probably felt it diluted their original
weirdness, maybe. You know, it's a fair point
to raise. Some did feel that way. But you could
also argue it was a necessary adaptation. How
so? They were playing bigger venues now, post
-flood. They needed a sound to fill those rooms.
And they were also responding probably to the
prevailing sounds of the mid -90s, like grunge.
Right. Flannel was everywhere. Exactly. But crucially,
even with a more conventional rock sound, they
were still writing deeply unconventional songs,
lyrically, conceptually. They proved they could
handle that sound. but still be TMBG. So it solidified
them as adaptable, not just a gimmick band. I
think so. It showed they were a durable entity.
And that transition also led to the current core
backing lineup solidifying not long after. The
guys who are still with them today providing
that horsepower live. That's Dan Miller on guitar,
Danny Weinkauf on bass. They joined around 98.
Roughly, yeah. And then drummer Marty Beller
replaced Dan Hickey in 2004. And those three,
Miller, Weinkauf... They've been the bedrock
of the live TMBG experience ever since. And having
that solid band infrastructure, that probably
allowed them to really capitalize on their next
massive mainstream cultural moment. Ah, yes.
The song that everyone, even people who don't
know, they know TMBG probably knows. Boss of
Me. That's the one. Penned and sung by Flansburg.
Yeah. Became absolutely synonymous with early
2000s television. As the theme song for the huge
hit show, Malcolm in the Middle. You're not the
boss of me now. It was a monster hit, charted
internationally, and critically, it won the Two
Johns a Grammy Award. Right. Best Song Written
for Visual Media, 2002. That's a huge mainstream
accolade, especially for a band that always kind
of cultivated this image of being happily outside
the mainstream. And that Grammy, that exposure,
it opened the floodgates for TV work, didn't
it? Totally. They became the go -to composers
for smart, quirky media. They performed the theme
for The Daily Show. Which was actually written
by Bob Mould, right? From Husker Du. Correct.
Composed by Mould, performed by TMBG. But they
also composed the theme and the famous Hot Dog
song for Disney's Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Hot
dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog. My kids love that.
Everyone's kids love that. And their music is
scattered all over animated shows like The Oblongs,
Dexter's Laboratory, Courage the Cowardly Dog.
They just became ubiquitous in that space. Their
ability to just pivot so seamlessly from being
these adult alternative rock innovators to becoming
Grammy winning children's educators and pop culture
humorists. It's just a testament to their incredible
versatility, isn't it? Which brings us nicely
to exploring that diversification strategy even
further. Right. Section four, diversification
and solo ventures. This really shows their strategic
depth, building these parallel creative empires.
And the most startling pivot maybe was into children's
music. Yeah. And it wasn't just like a one -off
album. They went all in. They've released five
full children's albums now, starting with No.
Back in 2002. Did that cause any backlash from
the original fans like they sold out to the kids
market? There was probably some initial skepticism.
Yeah. Yeah. You always get that. But the Johns
were really skillful about maintaining the core
TMBG sensibility. That's the key, isn't it? How
did they manage that? Well, they didn't patronize
their young audience. That's crucial. They still
used sophisticated vocabulary, complex ideas.
They tackled subjects like science and math with
the same intellectual rigor and quirky humor
they'd apply to songs about historical figures
or failed romance for adults. So it appealed
to the parents just as much as the kids. Exactly.
Parents weren't bored listening to it. And the
quality control was high. This led to serious
recognition. They partnered with Disney Sound
for releases like Here Come the ABCs and Here
Come the 123s. And those did really well. Didn't
one win a Grammy? Here Come the 123s, which came
out in 2008. won the Grammy Award for Best Musical
Album for Children in 2009. Wow. And the follow
-up, Here Comes Science from 2009. That was nominated
too. So this wasn't just some novelty side project
for them. It was a fully credentialed, high -quality,
award -winning output stream. Okay, so the kids'
music empire is huge. Now let's look at their
solo ventures, because those really highlight
their individual personalities, don't they? Starting
with Linnell's highly conceptual, often quirky
stuff. Oh, absolutely. Linnell's State Songs
project is just... conceptually brilliant and
totally eccentric. That started as an EP first.
Yeah, an EP in 1994, then expanded into a full
album in 1999. Yeah. And the whole premise is
this deliberate misdirection. U .S. states feature
prominently in the song titles, the choruses.
Right, like Maine, Idaho, South Carolina. Exactly.
But the actual narratives of the songs have virtually
zero connection to the state itself. Okay, give
us some examples. They sound fantastic. Okay,
well, consider Montana. It's not about Big Sky
Country at all. It's actually the insane, deranged
ramblings of a person who's apparently about
to die. Cheery. Right. Or Idaho, which hilariously
references that famous incident where John Lennon,
supposedly under the influence of hallucinogens,
became convinced he could drive his actual house,
like steer it down the road. OK, that's amazing.
What about South Carolina? South Carolina is
about someone achieving immense wealth, like
buying everything after suffering an unfortunate
bicycle accident. It's all just. Pure Linnell.
Highly technical music delivering these delusional,
wordplay -heavy, completely tangential narratives.
Exactly. It's his signature. And he takes the
academic route, too, sometimes. Remember in 2021,
he just dropped the Roman songs EP. Oh, yeah.
Original music, but sung entirely in Latin. Entirely
in Latin. That move just confirms his deeply
conceptual, almost scholarly approach to composition
sometimes. It's wild. And didn't he pop up in
a movie soundtrack, too? Singing? He did. In
a classic TMBG adjacent kind of way, Linnell
provided the singing voice for the other father
character in that brilliant stop motion animated
film. Coraline, back in 2009. Oh, right. And
TMBG wrote the song for that scene, too, didn't
they? The Other Father song. They did. It all
connects. Okay, so that's Linnell's quirky genius.
Now we shift over to John Flansburg's side ventures.
And his seemed to lean more towards the strategic,
the entrepreneurial, maybe? Definitely. Flansburg's
main side band project was Mono Puff. They put
out two full -length albums, a few EPs, mostly
in the late 90s. But yeah, his business drive
is really what sets his solo stuff apart. He
actually ran a subscription -based record label
for a while. Called the Hello Recording Club.
Ah, okay. That's another direct line back to
Dial A Song, isn't it? Absolutely. Flansburg
was constantly innovating ways to bypass traditional
retail, maintain that direct -to -consumer relationship,
subscription models, mail order, long before
things like Patreon or Kickstarter were even
a glimmer in anyone's eye. Always ahead of the
curve on distribution. Seems like it. And he
also took on significant production and directorial
roles outside TMVG. He directed music videos
for other cool artists like Ben Folds 5, Soul
Coughing. Oh, wow. Didn't know that. Yeah. And
he produced Jonathan Colton's big album, Artificial
Heart. He's really an artistic polymath operating
both creatively and structurally, managing projects.
And he even ventured into theater. He did. In
2004, he produced and actually starred in an
off -Broadway musical called People Are Wrong.
People Are Wrong. Great title. Isn't it? And
notably, it was co -written by his wife, the
musician Robin Goldwasser. They got married in
96. So he's constantly busy. Has he done solo
music recently? Yep. Just last year, 2023, he
released a solo EP called Forest Trees. Still
going strong. So these solo projects, they really
highlight the freedom within the TMBG partnership,
don't they? I think that's exactly right. Each
John clearly has the space and support to pursue
these highly ambitious, really distinct projects,
while that core creative relationship with TMBG
just keeps rolling along. Which brings us to
thinking of them as individuals, their resilience,
and their overall legacy. Section 5, Personalities,
Resilience, and Legacy. Yeah, and here's where
some of those little biographical nuggets really
add texture to the legend. They reveal the unique
public profiles, the quirks of the two Johns.
Okay, you have to start in the People magazine
thing for Linnell. That's just too good. Oh,
we absolutely must. John Linnell's completely
bizarre yet utterly hilarious run -in with mainstream
celebrity culture back in 1998. He somehow ended
up in their most beautiful people list. Not just
on the list, he finished ninth. In the online
poll they ran, he finished ahead of actual celebrities
like Sarah Michelle Gellar. Ninth most beautiful
person online. A thousand votes behind Madonna,
apparently. So how did the guy who writes songs
about, you know, personified thermostats react
to being suddenly declared beautiful by the internet?
Predictably. He seized the moment to be brilliantly
analytical about it. He wrote an op -ed piece
for the New York Times. Of course he did. Using
his experience to critique the inherent absurdity
of online celebrity voting, he pointed out...
Completely deadpan that he had been soundly beaten
for the number one spot by Hank the Angry Drunken
Dwarf. Oh, my God. From the Howard Stern show.
That's the one. So Linnell's basically saying,
look at this system. That is TMBG in a nutshell,
isn't it? Taking this completely bizarre lowbrow
pop culture moment and turning it into high minded,
self -aware social commentary. Perfectly put.
He specifically questioned the whole idea of
using Internet voting for like actual public
officials, joking that if his experience was
any guide. we might end up with, and I quote,
Shecky Green running the country. It's just a
perfect example of his brain applying intellectual
analysis to the utterly ridiculous. While Linnell
was busy skewering celebrity polls, Flansburg
has generally been a bit more outwardly vocal
about his own views. Yeah, he seems more comfortable
being direct, considers himself politically leftist,
publicly supported Bernie Sanders, less analytical
distance, maybe more direct engagement. Right.
And it's also worth diving into the technical
side, the actual instruments they use, because
that's so key to the TMBG Sonic identity. Okay.
Flans brings guitars. He's left -handed, plays
them upside down. Well, he plays left -handed
models. He uses a range of really cool classic
guitars. There's a Red Gibson ES -335, a Sonic
Blue Fender Telecaster, a Candy Apple Red Fender
Jazzmaster. Nice collection. But isn't there
a custom one? The gold one. Ah, yes. The most
fascinating one. His custom -made gold mojo guitar,
known affectionately as the Chess Master. Chess
Master. Why? Because he personally designed the
body shape. Oh. And get this. He based the geometric
shapes on the outlines of old guitar cases. What?
That's amazing. That perfectly connects his Pratt
Institute art degree right back to his main stage
instrument. That's so Flansburg. Isn't it? And
then Linnell's instrument profile is just essential.
It's that constant presence of the accordion.
The signature sound, really. Absolutely. Plus
various keyboards, the baritone, bass saxophone,
the clarinet. It's that mix that creates their
distinct, almost manic, definitely anti -rock
sound. That fusion of polka, jazz, rock. You
know it the second you hear it. And their activity
level, it's just been relentless for decades.
Right. But that endurance has... required really
resilience hasn't it especially recently yeah
after navigating all the tour postponements and
chaos from the COVID -19 pandemic like every
other band they faced a really terrifying personal
challenge back in 2022 the accident yeah June
8th 2022 John Flansburg was in a ride share traveling
home after a show and they were hit by a drunk
driver Oh, God. Was it serious? It was a severe
collision. He suffered several broken ribs, and
apparently many of those ribs had multiple fractures.
Required significant recovery time. It sounded
really bad. That's incredibly scary. Just awful.
It's a very close call, clearly. But the determination
of the two Johns, it's just evident in how they
handled it. They immediately postponed the tour
dates, gave Flansburg the time he absolutely
needed to recover fully. Right. And then as soon
as he was able, they regrouped. and got right
back to their demanding performance schedule.
It just demonstrates this incredible professional
toughness that really matches their longevity.
Four decades and still going. It's stunning.
What's the total output now? It's staggering.
23 studio albums. They've sold over 4 million
records. And the pace just shows no sign of stopping.
Still getting recognition too, right? The recent
Grammy nomination. Yeah. Their 2021 album, Book,
was nominated for a Grammy just last year in
2023. But not for the music. The packaging. For
best boxed or special limited edition package,
which just shows that even their album packaging
is considered high art and innovative. Everything
they do has that level of thought. Incredible.
Which brings us, I think, to our final takeaway.
Yeah. Wrapping it all up. Okay. So what does
this all really mean? The story of They Might
Be Giants is clearly not just about alternative
rock history. It feels more like a comprehensive
blueprint for how to have independent creative
success, especially in the 21st century. I think
that's exactly right. TMBG is fundamentally defined
by that strategic and creative symbiosis you
see between Flansburg, the organizational visionary,
the promoter, the strategist, and Linnell, the
meticulous, conceptual, often eccentric songwriter.
Two halves of a very unique whole. Definitely.
And their massive legacy really rests on two
main pillars, I'd say. First, that revolutionary
grassroots fan engagement they pioneered way
back with the L .A. song. built their audience
directly. And second, just their incredible creative
adaptability, that ability to pivot successfully
from being these quirky alternative rock innovators
to becoming, you know, Grammy winning children's
educators without ever sacrificing their core
witty, intelligent identity. They're the band
that could effortlessly blend these really high
concept ideas like that 21 track shuffle feature
on Apollo 18. Which was mind bending back then.
With something as wonderfully low tech and accessible
as a telephone answering machine. They just controlled
their own destory by by building their own direct
communication channels. Whether it's through
early telephony with dial a song or early MP3
distribution when no one else dared or those
subscription record clubs. They always found
a way around the gatekeepers. It really is a
masterclass, like you said at the start. Maintaining
that strong creative vision while constantly
adapting to every new wave of technology or cultural
shift. They've done it all, haven't they? From
using cassette tapes for backing tracks to releasing
the first major label MP3 -only album, from writing
educational songs about science to putting out
entire EPs sung in Latin. So given this relentless
commitment they have to new output and their
whole history of pioneering completely new ways
to connect directly with listeners, ways beyond
traditional streaming or even telephony. What
do you think they'll pioneer next? What new medium
is out there for TMBG? That's the big question,
isn't it? Will we see like a TMBG album embedded
directly into an augmented reality game or a
song that's built into an AI prompt somehow?
Who knows? With them, anything feels possible.
They have proved. time and time again, that they
will always find the giant hiding in the windmill.
They'll find the next thing. Something for you,
the listener, to definitely ponder as you maybe
go back and revisit the gigantic, often hilarious,
always interesting catalog of the two Johns.
A worthy endeavor. Absolutely. Well, that's all
the time we have for this deep dive. Thanks for
joining us. Our pleasure. We'll catch you next
time.