Barenaked Ladies (band)

There was this interesting phenomenon in the mid 90s when Gen X so-called “alternative” acts were making this deep dive into our collective unconscious. This was all part and parcel with our generation rising into adulthood and reclaiming (and declaiming) our maimed childhoods.

Weezer’s Blue Album (1995) includes nods to KISS and Kitty Pryde. Smashing Pumpkins' “1979” is a yearning paean to adolescence. Ben Folds Five reminded me that they’ve got my old ID and I’m all dressed up like The Cure.

Then there was the Canadian septet Barenaked Ladies. We were first told that their name originated when founders Steven Page and Ed Robertson wanted to create songs that make you feel the way you did the first time you saw a bare naked lady.

I can’t remember where I heard that explanation, but I heard it at the same time I was exposed (yes) to their first LP Gordon, and I got it. It reflected a yearning which is, supposedly, devoid of malice, if only because when you are an adolescent, you are too small and weak to act upon it, to do any harm, you just want. And you want badly.

The problem is, we don’t remain small forever. And like a Stephen King character who transforms from a bullied, spotty nerd into a strong, attractive stud (see: Arnie Cunnighman or Harold Lauder) the protagonists of Barenaked Ladies' songs treasure amusingly geeky and nostalgic touchstones. Listen to "Enid," or "Grade 9."

But – as in a Stephen King novel – this arrested emotional development can be a defense for wretched, toxic behavior. Yes, I fell into Gordon as though it had been written for me. From the first strains of "Hello City," which I experienced as a young man trudging through the snow-packed sidewalks of Cleveland, producing and promoting underground theater in a remote storefront, I was lost in these emotions. They get me! They get us! Our crowd is making the music, and it’s really good!

I was also aware of the abuse that is inherent in the lyrics. “I put my hands around your neck / you wrap your arms around me.” It wasn’t subtle, but you know. Guys feel like that sometimes, it’s just a song, you know?

Their second album, Maybe You Should Drive, was released in August 1994, and if I thought their first album was written for me, this one was as though they were stalking me. By that time in my life I was playing an unwinnable game, balancing my relationship with the woman who would soon be my ex-wife with the woman who would become my life partner and the mother of my children.

I love you … intermittently.

A is for asshole, I’m sorry.

She’s my alternative girlfriend.

Jane doesn't think a man could ever be faithful,
Jane isn't giving me a chance to be shameful.

I mean.

Interestingly, when I recall, I’m not much of a live music guy, but I have seen this act more than most. At the Odeon in 1994, Jacobs Pavilion in 1995, at the Lakewood Civic Auditorium in 1996. But that was it. One of their next big hits, released during the Night Kitchen years, was “The Old Apartment.” It’s an aggressive song about a man reminiscing about an abusive relationship – and he was the abuser. The music video is cute, depicting a young couple trashing an apartment together. But the song is about a violent, abusive man missing his lost love and regretting his behavior. He doesn’t sound changed.

"One Week" was fun, I remember it being used for the opening of 10 Things I Hate About You. But that was in 1998. By then I was moving past this second childhood, it was time to get serious, to become a man. Ideally, a good man. I don’t know if I’m there yet.