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| Stallion Love I'm not sure what attracted me to it at first. Maybe it was the music. Or maybe it was the tits. Breasts perfectly sculpted by nature (or possibly by man) in a tight half-shirt barely containing them. Around the woman's waist was a large belt displaying the word "WEEN." And beneath the picture lay Ween's Chocolate And Cheese, the album that got me into this mad duo. Dean Ween (Mickey Melchiondo) and Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) are not brothers by blood. I first read about them in an old issue of Spin when Seattle was all the rage. There was a strange story about the boys summoning the demon "Boognish." This demon granted one of them incredible abilities on guitar and the other the voice of angels. And as ridiculous as it may sound, the description is pretty accurate. Like most people, I dismissed Ween at first. They seemed like a joke. Songs about daisies, sung in a high-pitched annoying voice. They didn't make a lot of sense. No, scratch that. They didn't make any sense. I mean: Who the fuck were these guys? Anyone made famous off of "Beavis And Butthead" cannot have any talent. I was so right, I was wrong. It wasn't long after I first ogled the breasts on the cover of Chocolate And Cheese that I came under the complete spell of Ween. I soon owned all of their albums, some of which are quite difficult to get into. Try listening to two 20-somethings with a guitar, drum machine, and a fistful of mushrooms... You get the picture.
Their early efforts are something of an acquired taste. They both contain more than 20 songs and range from the rockin' to totally demented and asinine. One song on The Pod features a man placing an order at a Mexican restaurant. One tune on God Ween Satan is a funky Prince tribute called L.M.L.Y.P (Let Me Lick Your Pussy). But these oddities add up to form stellar LPs. If nothing else, they really show what two people can do with limited resources. Only after extended exposure to Ween is one truly able to realize the genius of this band. The band's influences — as varied as humanly possible — begin to bubble up. Funk, reggae, Butthole Surfers, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, Zappa, The Residents, lounge music, and pure fuckin' rock and/or roll. After further listening, I started becoming increasingly envious of them. How could these two dudes from New Hope, Pennsylvania, write such unbelievable songs? Catchy riffs, funky beats, hilarious lyrics, it's all in there. I couldn't understand it. I tried to make sense of the music, but there really was no point in doing that. It was just blissful. It could be due to my short attention span and varied tastes, but these guys just hit the mark. I feel that you really have to love music (all music) to fully appreciate Ween. Some critics have dismissed them as a novelty band but nothing could be further from the truth. These critics are like I once was... envious of their talent. It's easy to dismiss something you don't understand. Or just write it off as a joke. But these guys are the real fuckin' deal and anyone with an open mind and a love of music can see their albums as intoxicating proof. Their major label debut, entitled Pure Guava, is something of a watershed. This is the beginning of the present band now known as Ween. It flows in a similar vein to their first two albums but with a little more polish. But while they trimmed down on the bizarre edge of their music, don't think there isn't some nutsy shit here. Legend has it that the album's "Little Birdy" nearly drove Woody Harrelson off the set of "Natural Born Killers" when Oliver Stone played it incessantly during the filming of one scene. Ween followed it up with the aforementioned Chocolate And Cheese, which might be the group's finest hour (even tits aside). Once songs such as "Spinal Menigitis (Got Me Down)" didn't kill me, they made me grow stronger in my appreciation of the band. And once I was drawn into their small but dedicated following, I began to purchase their albums the day they came out. The first was Twelve Golden Country Greats — an absolute stroke of genius. Instead of rehashing the eclectic stew of the band's previous ventures, Ween wrote ten country flavored tunes, and headed down to Nashville, where they gathered up 12 of the most kick-ass session musicians the country music capitol has to offer. Reading the titles of the songs, they seem like pretty standard Ween fare: "Piss Up A Rope," "Mr. Richard Smoker," and "Help Me Scrape The Mucus Off My Brain." But the songs were 100 percent pure country, which really benefited from the aid of the musicians. Ween's arrangements and the band's playing are incredibly tight. And the album simply added another feather in the Ween's cap. Bastards. Their next venture was another "concept" album, called The Mollusk. It was an underwater-themed CD much like Jethro Tull's Aqualung, but not really. The songs all revolve around the ocean. But the subject matter ranges from eels and mollusks to drunken sailors talking about the glories of raping and pillaging. There is no funk here; only darkly crafted pop songs, with many different effects, and moods. Ween's most recent effort is probably their greatest. Entitled White Pepper, the record is riddled with XTC-type rockers, Buffett style sing-alongs, heart-pounding rock, and Steely Dan treatments. It's a lot of fun, and the one that got my girlfriend into Ween. Very lean, no fat at all. The boys seem to have matured, although you couldn't tell from the titles: "Bananas And Blow," "Pandy Fackler" (about a mildly retarded girl who sells herself), and "Stroker Ace." The culmination of my fandom came in May 2000, when I got to see the boys rock NYC two nights in a row. It was the most insane spectacle I have ever seen. Each show lasted between two and three hours, wherein Ween played songs spanning their entire 16-year career. I'll admit I was way past my limit on the second evening. I have been known to pass out or fall down at shows. It seems to be a running joke in my circle of friends, but this night was different. I would not let myself succumb to the same fate I endured before. I let the music lift me up, and keep me there. And it was well worth it. The band treated the crowd to a blistering version of Van Halen's classic "Hot For Teacher," and closed the show with a 20-minute version of "Shockadelica" into "L.M.L.Y.P." I almost crapped my pants (My girlfriend is now a convert due to this show). It's hard to say exactly what it means to be a huge Ween fan. Maybe it's buying the albums, the t-shirts, or the rare Australian b-side that was only available in some remote part of the outback. Or it might also be blowing your way through the road crew just to get a glimpse at the men who give you so much joy. If it is any/all of these things, then I must admit that I'm an immense fan of Ween. And large-breasted women. |
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| Josh Friedman is a Spanish teacher and CD junkie living on Long Island. If you don't recognize his name, it's because he only steps out from behind his many monikers for special occasions such as this. |
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