A 20-something wearing a wizard’s cap was spotted walking east along Lansdowne Street last Friday around dinnertime. It’s a wacky neighborhood, but it’s not that wacky. There was really only one destination to which this budding Gandalf was headed: the first night of the two-night They Might Be Giants stand at House of Blues.
The band out of Lincoln, founded by John Flansburgh and John Linnell in the early 1980s, has been an endless source of fascination for its fanatical fanbase. The secret to its success is no secret: They Might Be Giants write a great pop song. Long after starch-shirted, electropunk New Wave contemporaries wore out their dorkcore welcome, the pair continues to thrive, albeit in the industry margins, on the strength of their songwriting craft.
Not that it’s always been a smooth ride. The Friday night banter from the stage aired a few grievances. The first 45 minutes of music was dedicated to a playthrough of 1996’s “Factory Showroom,” which the band let the room know had never received the kind of support it needed from the label, Elektra Records, to find commercial success.
Flansburgh (guitar and vocals) and Linnell (keyboard, vocals and sometimes clarinet) led an octet, boasting horns aplenty, through “Factory Showroom,” reminding the world that songs like “S-E-X-X-Y,” “The Bells Are Ringing” and “How Can I Sing Like a Girl?” never quite got the attention they deserved.
They Might Be Giants might be correct about getting sold short by the label. But a lot was happening in music in 1996. Some of the top albums that year were 2Pac’s “All Eyez On Me,” Beck’s “Odelay” and DJ Shadow’s “Endtroducing.” Change was in the air. If the marketing team at Elektra felt like the culture of music consumption was shifting away from bands that sing in the musical register of Pee-wee Herman, it’s hard to blame them for trying to cut their losses.
The music industry, like life, moves in cycles. If an artist is talented and lucky enough to hold on through the slack periods, a rebirth in the minds of critics and hearts of the public is always on the horizon. Not that the hardcore fanbase ever lost faith. Arguably, the gradual dimming of the band’s mainstream presence allowed Flansburgh and Linnell to grow their oeuvre in lateral directions, shifting into children’s music in the ’00s and winning awards for their contributions to scoring TV and film.
Once you’ve cut your teeth as an artist with live performances, though, it’s hard to step away from the stage forever. Here we are in 2026 and They Might Be Giants can still sell two nights at House of Blues, touring in support of their latest LP “The World Is To Dig.” The duo will never inspire awe with their musicianship, but they’ve always made up for it with expert songwriting and a kind of alchemical inventiveness that turns musical gimmickry into something transcendent.
Case in point, the group performed a song backward in the first half of the night. After intermission they screened a clip of the same performance, played in reverse, thereby double-reversing the performance to make the original melody and lyrics intelligible once again.
It’s a weird thing to do. And nobody asked for it. But much like their toll-free “Dial-A-Song” stunt (which is still active, after more than 40 years, by the way, at (844) 387-6962), it’s an effective attention grab that reminds you the band has never taken its appeal for granted.
Part of not taking your appeal for granted is not forgetting to play the hits. After working their way through “Factory Showroom,” plus the new single “Wu-Tang,” They Might Be Giants finished with pure fan service. Flansburgh and Linnell delivered no less than three encores, milking the hometown crowd for all it was worth and closing with the immortal “Istanbul (Not Constantinople).”
Judging by the number of gray-headed parents that were initiating their children into the They Might Be Giants live experience, the band is making its bid to attract a new generation of fans. Will Gen Alpha grok their parent’s nerdcore? Where there’s a weird, there’s a way. Just ask the young adult in the witch’s hat, dancing in the corner.
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