In the hazy days of late 1998, I was enrolled in a freshman-level course at the University of Maryland, College Park called "The Theory of Creativity," which was just as silly and content-free as you might suspect. Our final assignment involved writing a short essay describing any song that was released in the last twenty years, and arguing why that song qualified as creative. The night before it was due, I spent several hours smoking sweet black hash, before picking Ween's "Mutilated Lips" at random and hammering out this piece of flagrant (and fragrant) bullshit, unedited to preserve entertainment value:
In popular music today, and indeed, in society as a whole, there is an emphasis on individuality, a need to be perceived as different. However, in this quest to set oneself apart from the rest of the world, there often emerges a "cookie cutter" image: everyone is defying convention in the same way. In short, fashion, music, and the entertainment industry as a whole paradoxically conforms to a nonconformist set of standards. This is most immediately
apparent in the world of music, where one group might popularize a creative concept, and suddenly a whole slew of bands appear that mimic this concept, until what began as a spark of creativity becomes a mainstream norm. Few bands manage to escape these trends, but occasionally a band emerges that can incorporate musical genres without simply copying them, that can produce truly creative music that goes beyond the need for a "shock factor." One of these bands is Ween, evident in the song "Mutilated Lips."
Ween's beginnings are interesting in that they made a success out of what, for so many others, is automatic failure: they began as a middle-school garage band. Mickey Melchiondo and Aaron Freeman were childhood friends in suburban New Jersey. After playing around with a four-track tape recorder in Freeman's bedroom, the two 14 year olds decided to make a band in 1984, which they named Ween. They subsequently gave themselves the stage names Gene Ween (Freeman), guitarist and vocalist, and Dean Ween (Melchiondo), guitarist and backup vocalist (they use various backup musicians to complete the band on their albums). In 1990, they released their first full-length album, God-Ween-Satan (The Oneness), and have been relatively prolific ever since, releasing five more albums: The Pod (1991), Pure Guava (1993), Chocolate and Cheese (1994), 12 Golden Country Greats (1996), and The Mollusk (1997). Ween is not easily categorized into
one musical genre. The band has dabbled in rock, pop, punk, funk, country, swing, reggae, and folk ballads. Yet through it all, there runs an indefinable element that one can only describe as "Ween." No matter what style they choose to use, there is a common theme of
playfulness, experimentation, and, often, there is a sort of tongue-in-cheek commentary on other musicians who take themselves too seriously. One of Ween's songs might sound very different from another, but these elements unite the body of work into a whole.
"Mutilated Lips" on The Mollusk is as good an example as any of Ween's creativity. It is important to note, however, that since Ween experiments with a wide variety of musical styles and genres, there is no such thing as a representative song. However, "Mutilated Lips" exhibits quite a few of the elements which qualify Ween as creative, including the very experimentation that makes them so hard to define as a band. The song, as a whole, uses a combination of instrumentation, lyrics, and studio sound effects to weave a rich musical tapestry.
The song begins with a digitally altered and rather surreal sound of cymbals. This "unreality" is enforced with the opening line, "I lick my brain in silence." The guitar and the congas immediately form the backdrop of the song. Percussion more common to a rock band is not found here, except for a periodic deep drumbeat marking the beginning and end of every line of the
lyrics. Gene Ween's voice has been altered in the studio, with a slight echo effect as well as an effect that makes the phrases seem longer and more drawn out than they actually are. These elements create a mellow, but surreal mood for the song.
The lyrics themselves are also surreal, insofar as they seem unreal and incomprehensible. How can one lick one's brain? Who, exactly, is the "midget man provoking violence?" However, the lyrics seem to have been written less for meaning than for rhythm and rhyme; I do not think Ween intends the lyrics to have any deeper meaning, but, instead, uses the rhythm of the words to complete the song. When Gene Ween sings, "Ooh, you sassy frassy lassie / Find me the skull of Haile Selassie / Give me shoes so I can tapsy," I doubt he is trying to make some sort of deep and meaningful comment on Ethiopian politics or the Rastafarian movement. Instead, the lyrics flow, both rhythmically and with rhyme, and the listener does not pay attention so much to what the words mean as to how the words sound. The same concept applies to the refrain of the song: "Mutilated lips give a kiss on the wrist of the worm-like tips of / tentacles expanding in my mind, I'm fine, accepting only fresh brine / You can get another drop of this, yeah, you wish . . ." While the words and phrases create a fantastical mental image, when taken as a whole, they do not really mean anything. However, the nonsensical lyrics fit in with the surreal mood of the song, and, if anything, can be considered as the instrument playing the melody, rather than having a meaning apart from the music. This creative use of lyrics provides a contrast to the lyrics of many of Ween's contemporaries - all too often, music is not appreciated for music's sake, but must carry some higher and more grandiose message: about love, politics, or the ever popular teen angst. Ween simply lets the listener enjoy the music.
Ween is playful, sometimes nonsensical, and the band is not afraid to experiment. Perhaps what makes them creative, above all, is a passion for the music, and not for a public image, an attitude that has become all too rare in much of modern music.