Some of my most satisfying bouts of laughter came when I heard a bizarre song for the first time. Whether it be an unexpected turn of phrase, an abrupt musical transition, or anything else out of the ordinary, artists don’t get enough credit for effectively embedding humor into songs. I think purposeful comedy in music is vastly under appreciated and far more difficult to pull off than tragedy. Rock Lobster” by The B-52’s and “I Put a Spell on You” by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins are just the beginning, a couple popular examples. The rabbit hole of surreal and comedic music goes far deeper than that. Buckle up y’all, this one’s gonna get weird.
Accidental musical comedy is a cultural staple. The worst American Idol auditions went viral before “going viral” was a thing; everyone knows who William Hung is. Collectively, we understand the laughter that blissfully unaware musicians can provoke. Calculated musical comedy is a different animal altogether. Rather than ignorance to their own lack of talent, the purposeful musical comedian’s primary asset is absurdity. The artist defies listeners’ preconceived notions of what a song should sound be. From lyrical content, to structure, to instrumentation, most people have heard enough music that they have an idea of what to expect. With that in mind, the aspiring musical comic manipulates one or several of those elements in order to coax a laugh (or at least a smile) out of their audience. Devendra Banhart’s relentless repetition on “Chinese Children” and Jonathan Richman’s “You’re Crazy for Taking the Bus” are solid examples of lyrical humor paired with straightforward music. John Maus and Ariel Pink are both well versed in creating playfully bad compositions to accompany their bizarre lyrics. But the unsung archetype in this realm is Robert Steven Moore. Mr. 400 Albums. The man, the myth, the multi-instrumentalist.
In an interview with Vice, Moore sums up his philosophy of music: “It’s got to be diverse, have variety, no rules. A sense of humor. An outrageousness.” Those principles clearly govern his mind-numbingly vast catalogue of songs, but for now let’s focus on one example: “I Wish Marvin Gaye’s Father Had Killed Me Instead.” The song is a collaboration between Moore and Yukio Yung (Terry Burrows), the former frontman of psych-pop band, The Chrysanthemums. It originally appeared on The Chrysanthemums’ 1987 album Is That a Fish on Your Shoulder or are You Just Pleased to See Me? and was written by Alan Jenkins, the band’s guitarist. Despite it being a cover, it’s true to R. Stevie Moore’s creative vision in every way.
R. Stevie Moore and Yukio Yung are prolific songwriters and gifted multi-instrumentalists. This is not the work of newcomers, this is the work of two artists who have been writing music for so long that experimentation is the only way they can operate. On “I Wish Marvin Gaye’s Father Had Killed Me Instead”, their combined talents have produced a Franken-song. This patchwork creation doesn’t limp, though. It is smooth; as danceable as it is confounding. Funky slap-and-pop bass and a downtempo disco beat make up the rhythm section. The song is filled out by a labyrinthine acoustic guitar progression that calls to mind “Hotel California” and mellotron brass interruptions that would make Stevie Wonder proud. In the background, samples of “Inner City Blues” reverberate like the spirit Marvin Gaye himself. It still sounds ambitious in 2018, despite being released in ’06.
All of the above applies to the first three and a half minutes. At that point, “I Wish Marvin Gaye’s Father Had Killed Me Instead” essentially ends. But like a phoenix from the ashes, the sounds of latin lounge jazz rise from the silence. Moore and Yukio throw the ultimate curveball by including a jazz cover of their own song within the song itself. They even add a mellotron flute approximation of Moore’s vocal melody. Its surprising, its weird, and most importantly, its impeccably composed. For a couple of guys that specialize in experimental rock, their attempt at straightforward cocktail party music sounds like some of Esquivel’s best work. And the diversion adds one more layer to a song already crowded with genres. Haters might say it’s too much, but don’t listen to them. They’re boring.
A song with so many musical twists needs subject matter to match, and original songwriter Alan Jenkins penned some of the most incomprehensible lyrics I’ve ever read. R. Stevie Moore’s over-annunciation and nasaly voice injects humor into Jenkins’ words that wasn’t present in the original recording. It begins like this: “I dreamed that I was speaking in the house of lords / And I was heckled by a porcupine / I was naked and I had no arms / Dancing to ‘I Heard it Through the Grapevine’,” and that level of surrealism never subsides. From a line about the “prince of darkness” appearing amongst the narrator’s underwear, to a description of an angel burning on the day that Marvin died, the antics don’t let up for a second. Yet, for all its oddities, it still conveys a sense of deep admiration for Marvin Gaye and a profound, albeit quirky, sadness over his tragic death.
“I Wish Marvin Gaye’s Father Had Killed Me Instead” sticks out like a sore thumb on a track list. The title begs you to give it a try, if only to find out what a song with such an outrageous name actually sounds like. It roped me in, and I listened with my mouth agape until it ended. I laughed, I sighed, and I audibly said “what the fuck is this?” several times. Determining the point of this track is a fool’s errand. I could argue it’s a symbolic study of processing sadness just as convincingly as I could say it’s a well orchestrated joke and the impossibility of classification only adds to the fun for me. The only definite conclusions are surface-level. It’s an artifact of absurdity. It’s a Salvador Dali nightmare set to a breezy alt-disco groove. You will never hear anything else quite like it.
Sources: Vice Interview. Dazed Article. Terry Burrows bio. Terry Burrows and Chrysanthemums Apple Music Bio. YouTube Video with mysterious song info and lyrics.
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