Part of the reason why I love Ween so much is their humor. I
relate to it. On a daily basis. And I can be a problem.
Because there isn’t that many people who can relate or
immediately appreciate this kind of humor. It’s druggy, nonsensical, childish,
and downright wrong at times. So
whenever you meet-or in this case, hear-someone who expresses the same kind of
humor, you’re a friend for life. Mainly because you don’t have to preface
anything before you begin to unleash some truly inappropriate comments about
something.
Pure Guava was my
first exposure to Ween, so this would have been the record where I first caught
a glimpse of Dean and Gene Ween’s inappropriate behavior. It is with this album
that I began to appreciate the duo’s work and keep up with their whereabouts.
It began with the “Secondary Radio Markets Promotions
Representative” for Elektra Records named Traci. She was swell. More than any
other person that I dealt with on a weekly basis as the Music Director for some
small town radio station in Iowa .
The only other person who could compare to her was some other rep-I believe the
dude was on RCA’s payroll-who I always thought was an asshole until one day I
referenced Steve Albini to him. From that point on we were buds. He told me
about a Big Black show he attended where Albini came up to his friend as he
pulled out a cigarette, and asked the unsuspecting smoker “Need a light,
buddy?” Albini then produced a blowtorch or some kind of welder’s torch, which
he proceeded to use as a cigarette lighter.
Traci at Elektra was different, though. She was a girl and I
was a guy, and the fact that I could have educated and extended conversations
about music-on the company dime, no less-was pretty awesome to me. We were both
in relationships, so it wasn’t about anything sexual, and the fact that I was
in Iowa and she was in New York City put a stop to any real social
encounter. The guy she married also worked at Elektra, and when he got a big
promotion, her job became eliminated, primarily due to the fear of the way
their relationship would look to other staff members.
Needless to say, Traci would provide me the hook up to all
of Elektra’s releases and promotional items that were beyond what my station
would normally play. Pure Guava
resulted from that relationship and I appreciate that in more ways that can be
explained with this resulting “review” of it.
First of all, I marveled at the fact that
anyone…ANYONE…would could pull off releasing an honest-to-goodness four track
recording on a major label like Elektra. This was the shit that you remembered
from the late 60’s or late 70’s when record companies had no idea what they
were doing, other than sending out droves of A&R people with orders of
“Sign more hippies” or “Get me some punk rockers on our roster.” There is
nothing in Pure Guava that hints at
commercial potential, and whatever funds that Ween secured from Elektra
records-at the time part of the massive WEA group, which included Warner
Brothers and Atlantic records-should be immediately cashed for fear that
someone will figure out the ruse and put a stop payment on the advancement.
The record is known for “Push th’ Little Daisies,” the
single that was later incorporated into an episode of MTV’s Beavis & Butthead who declared it to
be the worst song ever. The “endorsement” was enough to propel the song into
the alternative top 40 (for whoever kept such a tally) and the top 20 of the
Australian singles charts, because they put acid in Vegemite down under.
The song is easy and incredibly catchy, but it doesn’t hold
a candle to the inherent weirdness that lays throughout Pure Guava.
The record begins with “Little Birdy,” a sweet ode to our
winged friends that seems to go horribly wrong with its warble guitars and
pitched vocals. At one point, Gene cracks up, explaining, “See, the birdy make
me laugh/Take a little birdy bath/I don’t know why he got me high.”
To me, it all made perfect sense.
Gene and Dean also break character on “I Play It Off Legit,”
another weirdo favorite that examines the parlance of the times, specifically,
the word “legit,” as in to be “legitimate.” The brothers carry on what sounds
to be a phone conversation, which is nothing more than a declaration of things
that are, or are not, “legit.” To clarify, “Mom bought me a cool shirt/When I
wear it, I’m the shit/Really not that legit/My Mom bought it.”
Got it?
Highlights are “Pumpin’ For The Man,” a fast tempoed anthem
to the struggles of the working man, dealing with the bossman demands to “Get
your fingers out your ass/Pump some faggot’s gas/Some asshole down on Main Street needs a
jump.”
And the curio “I Saw Gener Cryin’ In His Sleep” which has
Dean re-telling a moment when he finds his brother crying while sleeping. In
between the shitty guitar solo and an even worse whistling solo, lies some sage
advice where Dean tells listeners to block the bad shit out of your head
because “When it’s time for bed/You shouldn’t think about such stuff.”
Pure Guava is
probably a quarter-hour too long and riddled with too many inconsistencies for
it to qualify as necessary listening. But if there’s a part of you that enjoys
an examination of juvenile humor, audio experiments and too many bong hits,
then Pure Guava may serve as a
welcomed reprieve to “playin’ it off legit” with your milquetoast reality.
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