They Walk the Thinnest Line: The Dead Milkmen's "Beelzebubba"

Goddamn, I love this album.

Everyone knows that legendary quote from Rob Reiner’s brilliant mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap: “There’s a fine line between stupid and clever.”  Although the film parodied the mid-80’s hair metal movement, the one band that I feel exemplifies the balance between those two qualities the best is none other than Philadelphian punk-goofballs The Dead Milkmen, and their magnum opus, Beelzebubba proves the point more consistently, tunefully and hilariously than anything else they’ve ever done.

 

It’s easy to go on a song-by-song basis and mark each one as being either “stupid” or “clever.”  Naturally, the international smash hit “Punk Rock Girl” would be clever, while the repetitive, childish “Everybody’s Got Nice Stuff But Me” would be stupid, and likewise, “Smokin’ Banana Peels,” a satire of post-hippie culture would be clever while “Ringo Buys a Rifle,” which is exactly what you think it’s about, would be stupid.  Of course, that would lead to a superficial analysis of an album that deserves further attention, and yes, I am saying that an album with songs like “My Many Smells” and “Born to Love Volcanoes” does go pretty deep.  The cleverness is in the subtle details, the stupidity is in the big picture, and the supreme brilliance is in the almost effortless combination of the two.

 

Perhaps the first great shock of Beelzebubba, especially when compared to earlier Dead Milkmen efforts comes in the stylistic diversity of the record.  It isn’t until track four, “I Walk the Thinnest Line,” that we get to the first “normal” Dead Milkmen song here.  It isn’t that the first three songs don’t sound like Dead Milkmen tunes; no, no, no, that is clearly none other than Rodney Anonymous spitting out those lyrics with snide humor and bile, but opener “Brat in the Frat” takes cues from polka, complete with mandolin and accordion (on a Dead Milkmen record!), “R.C.’s Mom” is a James Brown parody, complete with a horn section (on a Dead Milkmen record!) and “Stuart” is a weird spoken-word diatribe.  The rest of the album is a bit more straightforward, but there are deviations on songs like “The Guitar Song,” a cute waltz heightened by the naïveté of Joe Jack Talcum’s nasally vocals, the multilayered melodies of “Sri Lanka Sex Hotel,” “Smokin’ Banana Peels” and “My Many Smells,” and the violin on several of the last few songs.  While they’d shown musical development from the start on songs like “Dean’s Dream” and “I Hear Your Name,” the fruits of their musicality ripen here.

 

Alas, that musical diversity, combined with fantastic melodies (honestly, applicable to almost every song here, the guys were on a real mean streak with this one) makes up part of what lies on the “clever” side of the record.  Still, the great appeal of the Dead Milkmen lies in the lyrics, be it the frequently hilarious one-liners they spit out or the unique subject matter they tackle, with a faux-juvenile brashness applied to the whole thing.  Or something like that.  That was a horrible sentence.

 

Regardless, there are plenty of lyrical touches, and otherwise that fall into the clever side of the debate.  Before “Bad Party” begins, you can hear some guy amidst the party sound affects saying, “I mean, the Captain and Tenille!  They’re like, so innovative!” which I honestly just noticed for the first time while writing this review.  The bizarre Who parody that comes toward the end of “My Many Smells” (“See me / Hear me / Touch me / Smell Me!”) is entirely out of place, fitting next to nowhere on a punk album released in 1988.  The seminal “Punk Rock Girl,” where Talcum’s endearing vocals shine through again surely benefit such understandably misguided lyrics like “And someone put a Beach Boys song on the jukebox / It was ‘California Dreamin’’ / So we started screamin’ / On such a winter’s day!”

 

The subject matter being satirized at hand is diverse, and it's all tackled just as effectively through simple mockery as it could be with serious, thought-provoking sentiments.  The guys run through spousal abuse (“R.C.’s Mom”), post-hippie nightmares (“Smokin’ Banana Peels”), PBS telethons (“Born to Love Volcanoes,” which I still think is one of the greatest song titles.  Ever.), teenage boredom (“Bleach Boys”), fraternities (“Brat in the Frat,” which, in addition to fellow mortuary-minded punks, the Dead Kennedys’ “Terminal Preppie” still stands as one of the great anti-college anthems) and American ignorance (“Stuart”).  Sure, it ain’t politically correct, but come on.  Come onnnnnnnnnn.

 

Now, the stupid end of the deal?  Well, I’ll illustrate that through a bunch of wonderful lyrical passages.

 

-       “Don’t you wanna hang out with the Bleach Boys, baby? / In a world where ministers murder golf pros? / Don’t you wanna drink some bleach tonight?”

-       “Take Elvis for a walk and shut up!”

-       “Maybe she loves volcanoes too / I’ll just have to take a guess / She looks like a volcano / With her red hair and brown dress”

-       “The kids must be part of the conspiracy / Mr. Rogers works hand in hand with the KGB”

-       “Maybe we’ll take the host hostage / Ooh, what a clever play on words!”

-       “Let’s have sex without birth control / Sell our offspring to some dirty old men / Let’s play Big Black at 3 AM / And tell the neighbors they can all get fucked” (That whole verse is nothing short of genius.)

 

And there’s much more where that came from.  Ultra-stupid, but you’d have to be numb to not find it amusing in the least.

 

I suppose it isn’t all fun and games either, though, as album closer “Life is Shit” ends the proceedings on a bit of a somber note.  So there’s a vulnerable emotional core to the band in the end, even if it is a pretty simple and even banal one.  Regardless, I still think those three lines say more than some of the most verbose, elegant poetry, which is clearly reflected in the sing-a-long reprise of the tune’s direct and universal chorus, “Life is shit / The world is shit / This is life as I know it.”  C’est la vie, boys.

 

Stupid?  Clever?  Both?  You make the call.  Whatever the case, go track this album down because it is absolutely worth your time, and if you give yourself in to its puerile charm, there’s a lot to enjoy here, and far more than I’ve even been able to mention in this already too-long review.  Hell, I don’t know if the Dead Milkmen knew they were creating something so complex when they were making the record.  That’s not to undermine them, but I like to imagine it was created that way.  Makes it all a bit more brilliant in the end.

 

(And, if you so desire, check out the “Smokin’ Banana Peels” EP!  Skip past the stupid dance remixes of the title track and stick around for the other five tunes, which are apparently re-recordings of old demo tunes.  If you thought “Life is Shit” was depressing, you’ll love “I Hate Myself” and “Death’s Alright With Me,” and “The Puking Song” is probably the single most stupid song the band ever recorded, and that includes “Takin’ Retards to the Zoo.”)

 

Here’s the video for “Punk Rock Girl”!  I think there may be one for “Smokin’ Banana Peels” as well, but I’m not sure.  Can anyone confirm or deny this?