Clouds on a Sunny Day
"He's at it again!" reads seemingly every article about "Weird Al" Yankovic, whose fourteenth studio album dropped this week. It's a familiar line. For decades, the public has marveled at Yankovic's longevity, and this year's Mandatory Fun has not disappointed.
Yankovic is delighting fans this week with a slew of music videos and talk show appearances. At age 55, he is set to achieve the highest chart performance of his career. According to industry experts, the Prince of Parody is in a dogfight with Jason Mraz to sit atop the Billboard 200.
The general fanfare has been tempered, however, by a din of dissent claiming that Yankovic's success is not long to live. Steven Hyden of Grantland writes that Yankovic is too old to be relevant to pop culture. Salon's Carl Wilson, meanwhile, says that Yankovic doesn't match up in today's decentralized, web-based music industry. Compared to the "deftness" of new "musical satirists," he writes, Yankovic seems "childish." Even YouTube videos have "a more critical edge."
On Hipsters
Granted, there has always been a subset of music fans too high-brow for Weird Al. As a student at Vassar, I auditioned twice to host a novelty music show on the college radio station. And twice, I was stared down by a sea of thick-frame glasses wearing expressions of boredom and mild disdain.
It's unusual, however, that anyone would vocalize this contempt. Yankovic is neither the best musician nor the funniest comedian, but what kind of jerk spoils good-humored fun? Moreover, Yankovic's place in pop culture hasn't shifted. Music has been digital—and Yankovic over 40—for each of his last four releases. Why strike now, naysayers?
The X-factor is uncertainty about Yankovic's future. Mandatory Fun marks the end of his lengthy recording contract—the album title refers to his legal obligations—and Yankovic is not looking for another. To keep his material timely, says Yankovic, he will focus more on digital releases.
This uncertainty gives critics political cover. A chorus of fans anxious about "What's next?" sets the stage for critics to respond, "Nothing, ha ha!" Moreover, the issue of Yankovic's age gives critics a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now in his mid-50s, Yankovic will only be singing so much longer. Unless he scores a smash hit before retiring, the doubters can smugly claim victory whether they're right or not.
In other words, the situation is a hipster's dream: the chance to make fun of everyone else at no real cost.
Weird Al: The Genuine Article
But the main critique of Yankovic—that he's tame and inexpert—is precisely why he will have an impact for decades to come, whether or not he actively performs.
Yankovic is subversive but not destructive. His strategy is simple: take the "cool" of popular music and juxtapose it with something nerdy or mundane. It works not because it's edgy, but because it's sincere.
Critics want an artist who tears down and transforms. Those are important to have. But Yankovic isn't a cultural hitman, or even a shrink. He's a good friend who keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously, while affirming the people who we are. Weird Al is refreshingly normal.
A few months ago, I re-watched Yankovic's 1989 feature film, UHF. It's a cult classic in which Yankovic turns around a dying local TV station with over-the-top programming.
Frankly, my expectations were low. Like much of his 80s work, UHF is plush with sophomoric gags and dated references. Would it hold the same appeal as when I was thirteen?
Surprisingly, yes.
UHF, and Yankovic himself, runs on more than comedy. The secret ingredient is authenticity. Each prank and parody is executed with unabashed enthusiasm, never winking, never trying to be clever. UHF is entirely unpretentious, seeking solely, simply, and sincerely to entertain.
Weird Al brings fun to the world, nothing more. But isn't fun enough?
Seth Warner writes on politics, religion, and public life. He has been a Weird Al fan since age 11, when Robbie Crowdis discussed the parodist at a youth choir rehearsal.
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