I Am A Wild Party: On CanRock’s Unfortunate Zany Turn

An unstated and unforgivable sin lies at the heart of CanRock, an appeal to the lowest, least interesting form of comedy: zaniness.

Zaniness is a distinct form of comedy, which needs to be sketched out to be properly understood. A good starting place is Tom Breihan’s review of the Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week,” as part of his Number Ones series looking at all the number one hits on the Billboard Hot 100.

Without clearly identifying it as such, Breihan is working toward a definition of zaniness by way of his visceral reaction to the feeling of being held hostage to this kind of comedy. What he misses, here, however is key to understanding zaniness.

Zaniness is indeed a “self-reflexive smarty-pants goofball nonsense schtick,” but it’s important to note just how self-reflexive it is. One of my core arguments about zaniness is that it is just self-reflexive enough to think it is funny, but at the barest possible level of consciousness. Put another way, zaniness screams “I’M FUNNY. I’M DOING SOMETHING FUNNY.” as if anxious the audience won’t get the joke. Zaniness doesn’t reflect beyond this bare thought. It is earnest in the extreme and without a hit of irony, cynicism, dry humor, dramatic tension, or morbidity. There is nothing behind the joke to consider. It can all be taken at face value. The pants are funny looking. That’s the joke. Ha. Ha.

Why is zaniness so prevalent in CanRock, particularly 1990s CanRock?

CanRock is lousy with zany bands. A casual review of popular CanRock band names almost tells the story itself: Doug and the Slugs, Barenaked Ladies, Crash Test Dummies, Odds. As if leaving no room for doubt, zany CanRock doesn’t want you to be confused about whether its supposed to be funny. But, how to explain the prevalence?

The Medium

The medium here explains a lot. Lyric poetry, particularly, for pop music, does not lend itself to comedy. Pop melodies are strict and don’t provide room for the tension created by comedic timing. Lyric poetry lends itself far better to the anthemic, or affective… that is the repetitive chorus, or the evocative language of moods. When artists attempt lyrical comedy, it typically takes one of two forms (not mutually exclusive): word play, and storytelling. Both of these forms, particularly when constrained by pop music norms, are played direct and earnest. For the former, “One Week” is an exemplar, with some of the dumbest word play imaginable:

I summon fish to the dish, although I like the Chalet Swiss
I like the sushi ’cause it’s never touched a frying pan
Hot like wasabi when I bust rhymes
Big like LeAnn Rimes, because I’m all about value
Bert Kaempfert’s got the mad hits
You try to match wits, you try to hold me but I bust through
…

Chickity China, the Chinese chicken
You have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin’
Watching X-Files with no lights on
We’re dans la maison
I hope the Smoking Man’s in this one
Like Harrison Ford, I’m getting frantic
Like Sting, I’m tantric
Like Snickers, guaranteed to satisfy
Like Kurosawa, I make mad films, ‘kay, I don’t make films
But if I did they’d have a Samurai

Barenaked Ladies, “One Week”

Swiss Chalet, but inverted. An endless list of cultural references with no real connection, no thesis, just because they kinda, sorta rhyme, “like LeAnn Rimes.” The appeal appears to be a mix of “I get that reference!” plus the base pleasure of the rhymed payoff.

There’s no better example of the storytelling form than the Crash Test Dummies. “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm,” and “Superman’s Song” are excellent examples of zany storytelling songs. Set against a kind of maudlin folk ballad, the apparent playfulness of the Dummies’ songs lies in the contrasting glibness of the content: “Superman never made any money/Savin’ the world from Solomon Grundy/And sometimes I despair/The world will never see another man like him.” Hardly the first to exploit this kind of melodic/lyrical tone contrast (The Smiths are the obvious champs in this regard), the playfulness is, in this case, entirely skin deep. The entire joke is simply: wouldn’t it be funny to sing a sad song about superman.

There’s another element to the medium at play here. Music, even lyrical music, is an obviously aural medium. Yet, even if we set aside questions of synesthesia, and other poetic devices and forms used to describe places and images, music has always to some degree crossed paths with visual culture (costume, festivals, and performance all play a role here).

CanRock in the 1980s emerged in parallel with the popularly of music videos.

There’s no clearer example of the zany turn in CanRock than Vancouver band Doug and The Slugs, which integrated zany into everything: the band name, the aesthetic, the sound, the lyrics, and the music videos/performances. Take their 1982 hit “Makin’ It Work,” where nothing’s spared. From the over-the-top “reggae” guitar riff that serves as the song’s melody, to the silly voiced, repetitive backing vocals “makin’ it work… pow wow” in a deep, slow baritone, set against the lead’s high-pitched whine, to the music video with its cuckolded husband jokes, etc., everything is painted ZANY.

The 1990s

There are other examples of zany CanRock in the 80s: The Pursuit of Happiness’ “I’m an Adult Now,” (1986) and David Wilcox’s “Layin’ Pipe,” (1987) come to mind. And, the paragon of CanRock zaniness, Kim Mitchell, is clearly a transitional figure carrying the mantel from the 1980s straight through into the 1990s. His “Go For a Soda,” (1984) is a classic of the genre. For me, however, the zany era of CanRock is properly the 1990s.

1990 is a serves as a kind of bellweather year. Nothing speaks to the appetite for and cultural power of zaniness like the Northern Pikes’ “She Ain’t Pretty” (1990). Unmistakably the worst CanRock song, “She Ain’t Pretty” is unrecognizable when set next to the promising jangle-pop of the Pikes’ 1987 hit “Teen Land.” Setting aside the misogyny, it’s a song that was clearly written to be funny. The raucous bar-band sound, the overdubbed laughing, the lead’s strained delivery, etc., all scream: “this is a bit of fun. It’s funny!”

The video, with it’s claymation gags, push the point relentlessly. This is a song written for the music video format:

From 1990 on, zany will dominate CanRock radio and particularly Much Music rotation. Barenaked Ladies, Crash Test Dummies, Moxy Fruvous, and Odds were inescapable. Zany was so popular that it can even be found in the era’s otherwise straightforward indie scene. How else to explain the lyrical tedium of Limblifter’s great 1996 song “Tinfoil,” “Ursula, what’s inside your jar of mayo?/Expire, cover it all up with tinfoil.”

Zaniness: A Canadian Mythology

But, why Canada? To be sure zaniness exists beyond Canada’s borders. Consider the Dead Milkmen’s “Punk Rock Girl,” (1988), or “They Might be Giants’ 1990 song “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)”: 

And, yet… Canada represents a unique breeding ground for zany. A more charitable description of zany might be “good natured.” A kind of toothless comedy. This is what sets it apart from another low form of comedy: the art of physical comedy. Physical comedy, at its best, is not only stupid and available at face value. It can also be barbed, uncomfortable, anarchic, vaguely sinister and disruptive. Consider Harpo repeatedly putting his leg in Edgar Kennedy’s hand as he’s trying to punch out Chico:

Zaniness lacks this kind of frustration. It is good natured and earnest to a fault. The appeal of zaniness to Canadian audiences is that it affirms our self-conception as good natured and good humored people. “We’re a little wacky” we say to ourselves as we giggle along to lyrics written with an arched eyebrow. “Eat My Brain” indeed:

A Zany CanRock playlist for those who can stand it: