Wahhh! For the second year in a row, this They Might Be Giants fan of twenty-two years might have to miss the show. As an avid fan, and a musician who would love my daughters to appreciate intelligent music, that isn’t mere aural spoon-feeding, I make sure they hear artists that I appreciate. Both my daughters are big TMBG fans, not because of “Here Come the ABCs!” or “No!”. They knew the ABCs and that “No is always No!”, long before those recordings came out. They love them because of “Don’t Let’s Start”, and “Ana Ng”, “Dr. Worm”, and, of course, “Birdhouse in Your Soul”.
For over ten years, I’ve been able to take either, or both, of them to every They Might Be Giants show that presented locally. We’ve even happened into a couple that weren’t so local, thanks to circumstances in Chicago and Cleveland. They hate to miss them.
Last year, that ended. Last year, we were informed by the staff at The Pageant, in Saint Louis, that we could buy tickets, but that the band insisted that no one under 16 be permitted into the venue. I was rather outraged. I planned to letter-bomb TMBG’s management, Disney, and anyone else I thought might be involved in uninviting me and my family to the show. Buying a house, fixing a couple sinks, and the like, stole much of my thunder, though. I quietly let it pass. The pit in my stomach remains.
Now, I’m not ignorant. I know that, very likely, a few thousand adults purchased “Here Come the ABCs!” on CD and DVD. Then, they took their three-year-olds to the Egg, or First Avenue, thinking they were going to see something akin to The Wiggles or The Doodlebops. They wrote some letters. They demanded some money back for their tickets. They complained to The Johns, The Disney, and The Malcolm in the Middle. Someone overreacted to this parental overreaction, and banned children from the non-childrens shows.
I appreciate that they want to keep the unknowing from showing up with Tiffany and Bobby, and a bag of diapers and wipes. This, however, is unfair to those of us who’ve known for two decades what happens at a They Might Be Giants show. Sometimes, Flans lets a little saucy talk fly –just one word, once. It’s no worse than what the kids hear at Walmart or on the telly.
So, please, John and John, let us come to your show. We can’t hire a sitter and tell our daughter that we’re going to hear her favorite songs live without her. It goes against taste and principle for us. Either that, or we’ll just have to wait for Rufus Wainwright to come, or for Leonard Cohen to come out of retirement for a show or two. I’m certain they will let us in.
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