Ween

Geek obsession: Ween
Why it’s daunting: Among the handful of ’90s alt-rock bands to build a sizeable, consistently great body of work that stretches over the course of several decades, Ween still hasn’t gotten the respect it deserves as one of the better bands of its generation. There are two reasons for this. The first is obvious: In spite of releasing albums adored and respected for their top-notch songwriting and breathtaking command of wildly varying genres, and a live show that’s transcended the gaps among the indie, jam-band, and classic-rock crowds, Ween is still perceived by the uninitiated as a novelty group.
It’s an image that set in during the early ’90s, when Ween—which began in 1984 as a home-recording project for Pennsylvania teenagers Aaron “Gene” Freeman and Mickey “Dean” Melchiondo—first garnered mainstream attention for the screechy, love-it-or-hate-it single “Push Th’ Little Daisies” from 1992’s Pure Guava. Because Ween was one of the few alt-rock bands at the time to display any humor in its music—though Ween has always been more of an absurdist outfit than a “funny” one—it was perceived by some as a comedic band on par with The Dead Milkmen or even “Weird Al” Yankovic. But even a cursory look at the group’s albums makes it plain that Ween’s catalog is too singular, well-conceived, and disturbing to fit comfortably under the “novelty” heading. Any chuckles inspired by a Ween record are likely going to be uncomfortable or defensive, and followed by a strong urge to shut the music off.
That points toward the second reason why getting into Ween can be daunting: The band’s music is a dark, twisted ride that occasionally veers into straight-up sickening territory. Death, depression, and romantic ruin come up frequently in Ween songs, but it’s the unflinching, first-person point-of-view of the group’s skuzziest material that can be really stomach-turning. Particularly on the early, “brownest” albums, Ween’s music has a childlike quality—not the cute, eyes-full-of-wonderment part of childhood, but the ignorant, gleefully destructive side. Unlike They Might Be Giants, another golden-era alt-rock group that toes the “funny” line without going over, Ween isn’t appropriate for little kids. In fact, a song like “Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)”—where Gene squeaks “It really hurts, mommy, am I gonna die?” in a pained baby voice—probably isn’t appropriate for parents, either.
Possible gateways: Chocolate And Cheese and The Mollusk
Speaking of “Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)”—which surely ranks among the most horrifying songs about children in rock history—it says a lot about Ween that the track comes from the band’s best and most accessible record, 1994’s Chocolate And Cheese. Along with similarly queasy tracks like “Mister, Would You Please Help My Pony?” and “The HIV Song,” “Spinal Meningitis” doesn’t so much flirt with bad taste as shove it to the ground and forcibly violate it. And yet… it’s also a really good song, with one of the finest guitar solos in Dean’s big arsenal of fine guitar solos. After spending a little time in the Ween universe, singing along with a dying baby no longer seems like a repulsive proposition.
Not that all of Chocolate And Cheese deals in pitch-black humor. It’s mainly a showcase for Gene and Dean’s encyclopedia knowledge of pop music, which has manifested itself elsewhere in the form of brilliant “theme” records like 1996’s Nashville excursion 12 Golden Country Greats (recorded with session greats Charlie McCoy and Hargus “Pig” Robbins) and 1997’s prog-rock exercise The Mollusk. On Chocolate And Cheese, Ween transforms into a different band on practically every track. Whether writing songs in the style of ’70s Philly soul (“Freedom Of ’76”), ’80s arena rock (“Take Me Away”), mid-’80s Prince (“Roses Are Free”), spaghetti-Western soundtracks (“Buenas Tardos Amigo”), tropicália (“Voodoo Lady), or Beatles-esque pop (“What Deaner Was Talkin’ About”), Gene and Dean are equally proficient and yet always maintain Ween’s own unique aesthetic. In contrast to the majority of alt-rock albums at the time, which hewed to a narrow, decidedly one-dimensional palette of hard-rock guitars and overheated angst, Chocolate And Cheese encompasses a world of music and moods, and it’s Ween’s undisputed masterpiece.