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Hanging out with Al YankovicBy Daniel P. FinneyOf the Post-DispatchAugust 25, 2004 |
Journey with us now, dear readers, into the seedy, dark and mysterious world of a rock musician on tour.
Take an exclusive tour through the chamber of sin and terror that is a best-selling and Grammy-winning artist's tour bus.
Read the harrowing, life-on-the-edge tales of sex, drugs and ...
Aw, who are we kidding?
We spent a couple hours with "Weird Al" Yankovic when he played Six Flags here last weekend. The guy famous for his parodies of popular songs, artists and pop culture in general is about as low-key, easy-going and down-to-earth as you can find.
No drugs. No hookers. No trips to the emergency room. Well, OK, the keyboardist had to go the emergency room, but we think it was just an upset stomach.
Known for garish Hawaiian shirts and a wildly antic on-stage personality, Yankovic behind the scenes is decidedly unzany. He appears wearing tattered blue jeans, black flip-flops and a muted brown tie-dye T-shirt.
"It's pretty boring around here on tour," Yankovic says, gesturing around his bus. "If you were riding this bus with us, you'd just find a bunch of people playing with their laptops and watching TV."
The bus interior is a mixture of forest greens, marble grays and black tiles. No construction zone oranges, banana yellows or psychedelic flower patterns. Not even a whoopee cushion.
The only luxury is a big-screen TV with a satellite hook-up - tuned to the Fuse music video network - and even the TV is something you'd expect to find in a suburban house.
"Yeah, we rent these buses, so we don't do a lot of decorating," Yankovic says. "Maybe Steven Tyler (of Aerosmith) outfits his bus differently, but this is how we do it."
Yankovic is the grand champion of the novelty album, perhaps the most successful comedy music artist since Allan Sherman. He broke through with a parody of the Knack's "My Sharona," called "My Bologna," in 1979 at the age of 16.
Since then, Yankovic has dominated a genre riddled with one-hit wonders and amusing novelties. He has lampooned everyone from Michael Jackson to Coolio. In his wonderfully over-the-top videos, he has dressed as a Jedi knight singing in a coffeehouse and wonderfully mocked Kurt Cobain's angst-ridden grunge rock.
A career that most critics write off as trivial has nonetheless earned Yankovic three Grammys, including his most recent in 2003 for best comedy album in recognition of "Poodle Hat."
Yankovic seems less like a rock star and more like a guy you'd find mowing his lawn on a Saturday afternoon in Chesterfield - well, if people in Chesterfield had giant, supercurly, white man afros.
His gags are usually clever word plays, slapstick comedy and flatulence jokes. He never strays into overtly sexual material, and a curse word can't be found in the library of his work. The mixture makes Yankovic an all-ages act, popular with children, parents and graying adults alike.
"My humor tends to be on the clean side," Yankovic says. "I've never really targeted one demographic or another, but I recognize that my stuff is popular with families because it's clean - sometimes cleaner than the source."
Behind the laughter, bright costumes and silliness, Yankovic is reserved and soft-spoken, almost shy. He answers questions thoughtfully, the very definition of earnest and erudite. Yet, the comic singer betrays little real emotion even though there is certainly plenty of it in his life these days.
In April, Yankovic's parents both suddenly died of carbon monoxide poisoning at their home. After the funeral, the king of musical comedy decided to keep touring.
"You know, I've been told by a lot of people that my music helped them get through tough times," he says, his brown eyes scanning the floor of his tour bus. "I've had people tell me that my work stopped them from committing suicide. I'm hoping that my music will help me now."
The tour, though, inspires a different kind of sadness. It means he's separated from his wife and 18-month-old daughter for weeks at a time. Yankovic says he only tours about 18 days in a row before taking a break to spend time with his family.
"I wouldn't do it otherwise," he says. "It's just too hard to be away from them."
But on a Saturday night at Six Flags St. Louis, several hundred fans were very glad Yankovic could stand being away for a few hours.
With a mixture of video presentation and wild costume changes, he inspired laughter and sing-alongs in an all-demographic crowd ranging from preschool children to teenagers and parents to gray-haired ladies, all of them signing along to songs such as "Eat It" and "The Saga Begins."
On stage, Yankovic was definitely "Weird Al," cavorting alternately in a fat suit, Jedi robes and a '50s-style lounge lizard leisure suit. Whatever weight Yankovic may be carrying in his personal life, on stage it doesn't show. He's happy to make others happy.
"Humor is a cathartic experience," Yankovic muses. "That's why I've never thought about doing 'serious' songs. There are enough people doing unfunny music. I'm happy to laugh."
"Weird Al" Yankovic File
Age: 44
How you know him: Clown prince of musical comedy, including parodies of Michael Jackson, Coolio and Don McLean. Winner of three Grammy Awards.
What's in your iPod?: "A lot of children's music. I've got an 18-month-old. We have a lot of sing-along stuff in there. I don't rock out as much as I used to."
Artist he'd most like to parody: "Well, Prince always said no, but that was back in the '80s when he was really popular. Nobody has really said no that I was disappointed with."
Which comes first, the song or the parody: "It happens both ways. For 'The Saga Begins,' I knew I wanted to do a 'Star Wars' song. We ended up going back 30 years and using 'American Pie.' Most of the time, I like to stick to whatever is the big, hot thing of the moment."