Why I Superfan on Al Yankovic

To the casual observer, "Weird Al" Yankovic is merely a goofy man with a satirical panache and an accordion. When MTV was in its infancy, his spot-on spoof of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" video threw him on the national stage and he was no longer only known by Dr. Demento listeners. He continued on making a dozen more studio albums, and as recently as just a month ago, is still releasing polka-inspired renditions of popular music. He is now known internationallly as well.

To the superfan, however, his talent and influence goes well beyond the fun-at-heart jab he pokes at major pop celebrities. Each album he produced is spotted with originals. Although he tends to take musical influences (Pixies for "First World Problems," They Might Be Giants for "Everything You Know is Wrong," Cat Stevens for "Jackson Park Express" just to name a few off the top of my head) the storylines and musical power is entirely that of Al and his band.

Next week I am attending what is probably somewhere around the 11th or 12th concert of his I have been to. This proclaimed "Self-Indulgent, Ill-Advised" tour is all originals. No costumes. Small venues. Small SOLD OUT venues. He added a second show to the city I'm going to in order to enjoy this thing. The only gimmick involved in this show is the magnetism that attracted me to his music in the first place:

He made it okay to be weird.
Not only okay. He made it COOL

When I discovered Al Yankovic, I was in the seventh grade. None of my parts fit right. I had braces, wore headgear to correct an overbite, and had an unpopular passion for Edgar Allen Poe stories and a fascination with Sherlock Holmes. I played violin. I wrote for fun, created plays with the neighborhood kids (terrible plays, but we thought they were awesome). I hated most things girls were supposed to like: makeup, pretty clothes, Loverboy. I looked like a boy because I didn't really know how to act like a girl. I loved being silly. And I paid the price for it. I was an outcast. I was bullied, asked often what gender I was, and was generally in emotional agony because I knew what it would take to "Fit In" but I just couldn't seem to muster up the desire to do so. So, I kept doing whatever the hell I wanted to do.

Enter Weird Al Yankovic. He was not at all attractive (like me!), and made fun of what was "cool" (like me!). He told stories based on other stories (like me!) and replaced serious themes with goofy ones (like me and my friends with our plays!). And he got a frigging MTV spot because of it. He went on to create Spatula City in UHF, ALtv, and increasingly high-marketing-value concerts and spots in television, film, media, and live shows.

I was 13 the first time I went to a Weird Al concert. Milwaukee Summerfest 1984, Rock Stage. It was my first concert. I spent the entire time standing on a wood bleacher seat screaming the lyrics along. Like a crazy person. A little, gangly nerdy crazy person. Even the lyrics to "Nature Trail to  Hell," one of the originals. By the time the concert was done, my voice was gone, my legs were jello, and I had never felt more vindicated or alive than I had at that moment in my brief nerd life. I was officially a superfan.

Weird Al Yankovic vindicated me. He still does. That's why I am still a fan. If you listen to his albums over time you can hear the increasing maturity and complexity. He moved away from the fart noise type gag to quite complex notations. And his storytelling improved from random food bits into long, amusing tall tales (e.g., "The Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota").

What do I mean by vindication? It's hard to describe. What started out as a IN YOUR FACE!! type of self satisfaction in middle school evolved into a "Hey, it's totally okay to be silly with some smarts behind it" and finally ended with a group consensus of "Life is too short to not make fun of our own selves!" Reference the "White and Nerdy" video for visual and audio proof. I guess what I mean is this: It's okay to do what you love. And if what you love isn't at all cool, that's even better. Yankovic was my first living proof that I could take my creativity and humor and run with it. And although my satire lyrics were relegated to an unsung set of lyrics to "Chariots of Fire" (which I penned under the pseudonym "Weird Ally") and a rewording of "How About You" for a Junior Miss group sing, he inspired me to just be my own damn self. Have fun with words and stories. Be yourself.

I finally met the man last year. I was at a comicon, and a dear friend had purchased me an autograph with him in order to do a meet and greet. When we finally approached him. I silently gave him my glossy to sign and said hello. Dead silence. I was dumbstruck. My friend (bless her soul), explained in no uncertain terms the reason I was unable to speak was that I'd been a fan all my life and was just stunned. It's true. I was. Here I have had this decades long relationship with a big brother who never even knew I existed! What do you say to a guy whose lyrics you know by heart, whose works you jump to instead of Nivrana's or Lady Gaga's when you hear the original song? He cocked his head at me with an "Awww" on his face like a puppy was in front of him. He took my hand. Placed his other hand on top of my hand, leaned out of his chair, and said the most sincere "Thank you. I so appreciate it." He was not at all weird. He was kind of shy, actually. I could relate; on stage acting in comedies much of my drama (school and community) life I was completely over the top; in person, not so much.

Then I word vomited all over him.

Anyways, Weird Al is a fucking genius. I hope the next time I meet him, next week, I don't puke all my adjectives out on him, and can help another friend the way my friend helped me (it will be her first time meeting him, and she's had the same kind of relationship I have with his work). One thing I do know: because this is the Ill-Advised-Self-Indulgent tour, no lights, no action- just plain old Al and His Band, the standing room only venue is going to be filled with people just like me.

People who were vindicated by his success that it's okay to be silly. It's okay to be smart. It's okay to be exactly who you are, and do what you love.