More Corn Mo!

Corn Mo'ratorium in 2004!?so you'll have to look elsewhere to learn about his big Circus by the Sea live rock opera that launches in January. There's also a big finish to 2003, though, as Corn Mo opens at Irving Plaza for his accordion influences in They Might Be Giants. The Orange Alert is taken very seriously this day after Christmas, too. I'm actually patted down by security before going to see a band whose sense of mayhem is usually quelled by pocket protectors.

But that's just another cheap TMBG gag that should be left to The Onion. I'd like the band even if they weren't helping Corn Mo to live his dream. Still, this only makes me happier for John Linnell and John Flansburgh, who've had a pretty good year themselves. The VIP section isn't very crowded, so I go upstairs to check out the crowd that's checking out Corn Mo. It's fairly obvious that plenty of TMBG product was opened on Christmas Day, along with assorted Wacky Wobblers and Simpsons figures.

I've written a lot about Corn Mo this year, and the recurring theme has been that his innovative prog-pop is totally sincere. That's never been more obvious than tonight. Somebody's told him to chat it up with the audience?which, with this crowd, means battling a wall of insincerity. He mentions his Texas roots, for example, and someone (who's probably never been to Texas) shouts, "Texas sucks!"

"Texas doesn't suck all the way," Corn Mo replies. "That's why I live in Brooklyn and go back there to visit." And then Corn Mo explains that his big problem with Texas is that it can be very difficult to find a food court. "Food court," of course, is an automatically laughable term within the happy hipster lexicon. Even I assumed that Corn Mo was about to endorse some Texan lifestyle that had a stamp of certified cool. But the guy likes food courts. He probably even goes to them for, you know, the food.

There's nothing hostile about the evening. The crowd responds warmly to Corn Mo. He's certainly happy. Then, toward the end of his set, somebody shouts out a demand for a cover. This is followed by the usual cries of "Freebird!" and "Stairway to Heaven!" They don't know with whom they're dealing. Corn Mo takes their classical challenge and raises it to the arcane. He proceeds to do "We Are the Champions." The crowd goes wild. When Corn Mo hits the chorus, they hurriedly raise their arms for some ironic anthemic swaying.

And then Corn Mo keeps doing the rest of the song.

His audience is plainly baffled. They thought that Corn Mo was just kidding. Corn Mo does not kid. In fact, the song goes on for a long time, as Corn Mo uses it as the setting for an inspiring speech. Corn Mo wants the crowd to know that he's just like them, and that his dreams of stardom have taken him further than he could ever hope this year, and that if you want to sell spreadsheets, you can sell spreadsheets, but if you want to do art or write poetry, then you can write or do poetry and the most important thing is to just never give up. Corn Mo lays down the gauntlet to kidults who define their existence by goofing on what they profess to love, and insists that they have it within them to live a full life that actually defines what they love best.

Well, he doesn't say that last part in so many words, but that's because Corn Mo is always polite. He did say that line about selling spreadsheets, though. He probably meant selling computer programs for spreadsheets?or, more accurately with this crowd, designing computer programs for spreadsheets.

My plans for New Year's Eve involve a bunch of dopey New Age events and crashing a wedding reception at Sin-é. After listening to Corn Mo, however, I resolve to do what I actually aspire to in life. Which is to stay home and watch episodes of Naked City, preferably the one in which George Segal does an amazing turn as an aspiring supercop on the trail of a serial killer.

Corn Mo has certainly improved my existence on what is surely the best possible show to wrap up 2003. Then I step outside, and a guy in a short-sleeved plaid shirt mistakes me for a member of They Might Be Giants. Ouch.