There were plenty of valid rationales for dropping twenty-five dollars ("They could charge fifty dollars . . . but that's not what the D's about!") to see Jack Black and Kyle Gass, the comedic acoustic power duo known as Tenacious D, at New York's Town Hall this past Saturday night. To hear Black tell it, "Some came for the music, some came for the laughs, and some came 'cause they heard some serious shit would be going down." As for "The D," they only came, as they claimed in the tune "Kyle Quit," to "rock the fuckin' mike and kick some ass." . . . Or it could have been, as they detailed in "The History of Tenacious D," that they "traveled through space and time, my friends, to rock the house again," though they'd never actually played the venue before. Or wait . . . maybe, as they explained in "Rock Your Socks," their goal was "to rock your fucking socks off."

Whatever the motive one thing's for certain, Tenacious D name-check themselves more often than Snoop Dogg at his most self-absorbed. If a tune's not about sex, drugs, or rock & roll (and even if it is), you can be sure it'll mention who Tenacious D are, where they came from, and/or how they kick ass and rock so much harder than any other band.

But do they rock harder? Can they kick ass? Are they really capable of defeating shiny demons like they say they do in their epic "Tribute" (formerly known as "The Greatest Song in the World") -- a "Devil Went Down to Georgia"-type tale sung "Stairway to Heaven" style. Did the Town Hall show really rock the audience's fucking socks off?

If you buy into the shtick enough to play along with the idea that this is, as they've described themselves, "The Greatest Band on Earth" and that they do, as they insist, reign supreme ("burrito supreme, and a chicken supreme, and a nacho supreme, supreme, yeah!"), you would have been among those clapping and singing along or tossing out witticisms to tease an upcoming punch line, a la Rocky Horror. If you could give yourself over to absolute pleasure, then yes, your socks were flying.

However, if you're a full-fledged D geek, you might have been quick to point out the big bummers. Not only have the boys failed to add any new tunes to their repertoire lately, but they've changed some of the song names and have converted parts of several songs from free-form spontaneous vocal riffing to rehearsed bits that match the versions on their soon-to-be-released eponymous debut album.

Aside from a particularly explicit filmic interlude about -- let's not spoil the surprise -- the show didn't offer much by way of fresh material. Instead it relied on a steady stream of "classics" -- touching tales like "Friendship" and roadie tribute "Lee," raunchies like the anal-themed "Kielbasa" and the self-explanatory "Double Team," calls for individual and collective violent revolution as in "Karate" and ultra-mini rock opera "City Hall," and the consummate combination of the three: their first single, "Fuck Her Gently" (guaranteed to get massive air play, of course).

On the other hand, if you weren't already totally tenacious about D, hadn't heard recordings of previous shows and hadn't seen the HBO spots (which, let's get this chronologically correct, followed the act's stage-based inception), something altogether different from the element of surprise may have been missing: a solid explanation for all the fanatics. After all, few things can be more annoying to a newbie than a bunch of dorks taking a musical comedy routine so seriously that they clap in all the right places that you don't know about (yet) and sing every word you don't know about (yet).

Once you're in though, you'll be trying these far more annoying items on for size. A drunk guy in the balcony repeatedly calls out for "Rocket Sauce" (sung to the melody of the Beatles' "Blackbird") both before and long after the band has already played it. A girl with floor seats continuously offers to fuck either or both band members. And worse still, some shitbrain persistently heckles opening act Jimmy Fallon (of Saturday Night Live) until the visibly nervous comedian is forced to give in and politely request that the guy "please shut the fuck up."

For the record, Fallon's routine -- a mix of college humor, an Eighties music montage ranging from "Der Kommisar" to "Come on Eileen" set to the back beat of MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This", and a batch of dead-on impressions that included Adam Sandler, Robin Williams, Jerry Seinfeld, Bono, Alanis Morrissette, and George Michael (right down to that last tasty butt wiggle) -- was an absolute treat.

But alas, such is the curse of all the "Greatest Bands on Earth." After all, James Hetfield brags on Behind the Music that Metallica fans would turn their backs on opening acts back in the good old days of musical integrity and long hair.

As for Tenacious D -- the band that calls foamy Stomp Rocket Launchers "pyrotechnics" -- as long as they keeps delivering tried-and-true banter set to musical semi-ripoffs, D-freaks will be barefoot in the aisles.

ROBIN A. ROTHMAN
(September 10, 2001)