The Magnificent Seven: Flood

This is the first in a series of articles that looks at seven albums the authors appreciate. In terms of criteria: they must be albums listened to only in their entirety…content and form together like houses in motion. They also must have enormous personal relevance: they are corner stones. They may not be cool, but they are us. 

#7

Flood, They Might Be Giants

Why is the world in love again?

Why are we marching hand in hand?

Why are the ocean levels rising up?

It’s a brand new record, for 1990,

They Might Be Giant’s brand new album FLOOD.

I was probably turning six or seven the first time I heard this album. It was in the summer, during my family’s beach vacation, easily my favorite time of the year. As an only child for the first eight years of my life, I looked forward to our week at the beach because I had instant companions. With five cousins within a year of me and four cousins only a few years older, there was always someone to play with. We would drive from Massachusetts in Delaware in two days, stopping midway to meet up with my Mom’s oldest sister in New Jersey. Frequently I would ride the rest of the way with my cousins in their silver Previa. When I hear the opening lines of Flood, more than twenty years later, I can still see the inside of their car and feel the summer sun streaming in the un-tinted windows.

I had never heard anything like it. Spoken word singing, strange instruments. I committed the lyrics, alternately nonsensical and profound, to memory, as did all of my cousins. I sang along to “Lucky Ball and Chain” without knowing what a ball and chain was, without knowing what it meant to rock a bar stool and drink for two. On cassette tape and with my Uncle driving, there was no rewinding to hear a song again, so we all waited eagerly for “Istanbul (Not Constantinople),” our favorite, to come on. We would furiously play air violin in the back of the van, swaying to the accordion and shouting the lyrics, alternating between singing lead and backup (“People just liked it better that waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay”).

When ‘Istanbul’ would end we’d all come off our high and ride through the rest of the album. Bag of groceries, racist friends (we’d play the air triangle). “Particle Man” was another favorite, I remember my cousin Eddie lip synching it (for some reason we did a lot of that, maybe not trusting our voices or not wanting to disturb the music).

“Minimum Wage” was another one we anticipated, on the edge of our seats, waiting to perfectly time our air whips with the blistering crack in the song. [Listening to this album years and years later, I still find myself flicking my wrist in perfect time.]

We used to try and sing along to “Letterbox,” fumbling over the words… “If I had a pair of eyes in the back of my head for each time/you forgot to take out all the things you forgot to talk about when you took a bite outta my spine/I would have a lot of eyes on the other side wouldn’t I wouldn't that just be fine?” We would sing “Sapphire Bullets” while rowing in our raft beyond the break of the waves.

They Might Be Giants were the first band I loved, the first band whose posters I put on my wall, whose lyrics I memorized. The back of my bedroom door at my parents’ house still has the drawings I did of John Linnell and John Flansburgh, noses smudged where I erased again and again, trying to get it just right.They taught me how to love music, to love musicians, to learn every drum break and guitar riff and strange sample on an album. The day when I finally saved enough money to buy Then: The Early Years, a two disc collection of early b-sides and unreleased tracks, was one of the proudest days of my young life.

I don’t listen to They Might Be Giants nearly as much as I used to. I hadn’t listened to Flood in years until one of my cousins sent an email with the words “tabloid footprints in your hair, tabloid footprints everywhere” in it. Coming back to it for this piece was like coming home. I know every word and note. I get references I didn’t years ago. There are many albums I listen to more and I probably wouldn’t call They Might Be Giants my favorite band anymore but “Birdhouse In Your Soul” is a song to build your life on…not to put too fine a point on it.

Emma Impink appreciates hanging on tighter, just to keep from being thrown to the wolves.