Say It Ain’t So, Al

The cat’s outta the bag with Weird Al’s Straight Outta Lynwood.
by Mike Winder

Hold on to your butts. After three long years, Alfred Yankovic, the prolific artist better known as “Weird Al,” has finally released a new album. Straight Outta Lynwood tackles topics as varied as computer viruses, frivolous lawsuits, the workings of an internal organ and international copyright laws. All this, topped with a more personally revealing Al than ever before, makes Straight Outta Lynwood easily his most ambitious work to date. Well worth the wait—this album is nothing short of a revelation.

My first introduction to the music of “Weird Al” came at the tender age of 9 while roller-skating in my hometown of Modesto. One Saturday morning the Roller King DJ (no doubt tired of playing Wham!) threw caution to the wind and spun a tune that shook my foundations. Somewhere between the hokey pokey and the appearance of mascot Freddy the frog, the DJ played Weird Al’s song “Eat It” from his sophomore album In 3-D (1984). I slammed into the nearest carpeted bench (braking was never my forté) and soaked up every word. With lyrics like “You better listen/You better do what you’re told/You haven’t even touched/Your tuna casserole,” Al’s rendition of “Beat It” transformed Michael Jackson’s anthem of passive resistance into something universal and infinitely more digestible.

Shortly thereafter came my first album, purchased by saving weeks worth of allowances—Weird Al’s Dare to be Stupid (1985). Whereas most listeners gravitated toward “Yoda,” Al’s spin on the Kink’s “Lola,” my ears preferred an original song of unrequited love, “One More Minute.” In a dejected voice, the song lamented, “So I pulled your name out of my rolodex/And I tore all your pictures in two/And I burned down the malt shop where we used to go/Just because it reminds me of you.”

Even as a 10-year-old, I found the narrator’s frailty and honesty compelling. Sure, the lyrics border on the melodramatic, but hang Yankovic for that crime and you’ll also have to string up Euripides, Shakespeare and Ibsen.

A deeper look into his catalog led me to his original, accordion-fueled punk ditty “Happy Birthday” (1983), which turned a child’s special day into a Cold War freakout with the warning, “The monkeys in the pentagon/Are going to cook our goose/Their finger’s on the button/All they need is an excuse.” My rebellious pre-teen spidey sense tingled when my mom yelled at me to lower the volume, and disappointedly added, “I never thought you’d grow up to listen to that type of music.”

Now, you’re probably thinking, c’mon, nuclear paranoia is so ’80s. And you’re right. So here we are, eight albums and more than 20 years later, and Weird Al has unleashed Straight Outta Lynwood.

Al explained to me the title is a play on N.W.A.’s classic Straight Outta Compton. (Note to self: Google this obscure band before turning in to editor.) “Compton is directly adjacent to Lynwood,” he says. “And I really did come straight outta Lynwood! I spent the first 16 years of my life there … I just figured it was finally time for me to represent. I want to get back to my roots and reclaim my street cred, boy-eee.”

“Pancreas” is an original song done in the style of Brian Wilson, and features a myriad of instruments, including a French horn, toy piano, flute and ukulele. Not only is this Al’s most musically accomplished work to date, but lyrically it also enters new territory. It’s literally introspective—a love song to the pancreas.

“For a long time, I’ve wanted to do a pop song that describes the workings of an internal organ in excruciating, medically-correct detail.” Al explains, “I mean somebody was bound to do it sooner or later—and I wasn’t about to let Phil Collins get the jump on me this time.”

“I’ll Sue Ya,” a song done in the style of Rage Against the Machine, directs that band’s righteous anger towards frivolous lawsuits. One line in particular caught my attention: “I sued Delta Airlines/‘Cause they sold me a ticket to New Jersey—I went there, and it sucked.” When asked whether such sentiment could prompt a possible backlash, Al said, “I certainly meant no offense to the people of New Jersey, who are some of my biggest fans. I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to tell it was a joke. Everybody knows it’s actually Alabama that sucks.”

A joke? Yeah, right. Obviously Al prefers to deflect such questioning, leaving the song’s message open for interpretation. Now, what about “Don’t Download This Song,” a track warning consumers to resist seductive but illegal file-sharing networks? Or “Virus Alert,” a catchy rock operetta about a computer virus so aggressive that even a recipient’s clothes require sterilization? Aren’t these new tracks cautionary tales of the dangers of the modern world?

“Yes, both of those songs are paranoid rants about digital technology, but again—jokes.” Al said, “I have nothing against technology. I may look like the Unabomber, but really I’m not him – I promise.”

Jokes? This reporter began to feel like Neo after taking the red pill. Had my most cherished singer/songwriter been yanking my chain since day one? Let’s not rush to judgment and at least give Al a chance to explain himself.

What about “Weasel Stomping Day?” Don’t lyrics about a holiday based on squishing furry mammals conflict with Al’s openly vegetarian lifestyle? “I guess it would conflict with my belief system if I were actually advocating that people should stomp on weasels, but I kinda feel like I’m repeating myself here. This is satire. Irony. Comedy.” Al said, adding, “Even my 3-year-old daughter knows you shouldn’t really stomp on weasels.”

Ouch. Say no more, Al. For a few guffaws, pick up Straight Outta Lynwood. Meanwhile, look for me at Roller King, where I’ll be personally delivering that no-good DJ a knuckle sandwich. LAA