orget about what Bono said at last year's Grammys: there's a new band competing for the title of Best Band in the World. They're fat, they're foul-mouthed and one of them is bald. They're Tenacious D.
Armed with two acoustic guitars and several chins, Jack Black and Kyle Gass of Tenacious D--"the D," if you're nasty--are out to destroy everything in their path as they rise to god status in the Monster Rock Hall of Fame. Relentlessly self-promoting and ridiculously self-obsessed, these two cherub-faced chunks of funk take rock On' roll satire to a whole new level. Spinal Tap would be proud--maybe even a little jealous.
"Dude, we gotta fuckin' write something new," says Black at the beginning of Tenacious D's self-titled debut album. Gass agrees, and the two strum into "Kielbasa," a song about sausage and all of its possible sexual innuendoes. What follows is a mish-mash of acoustic jams, electric-guitar-heavy power ballads and inter-song banter about food, robots and Black's amazing ability to do "cock push-ups."
Far from embracing their anti-sex-symbol status, the beer-stained duo seem to be oblivious to their defects--singing of their sexual successes on the road like a couple of pouty-lipped, big-eyed rock gods on a heroin diet. The sex god thing, the endless stream of R-rated insults hurled at Gass by Black, their claim to have written "The Best Song in the World"--it's all part of the act. But somewhere along the way, the act became legit.
The D began as a live gig project, playing small clubs in L.A. and trying to rock people's socks off, one show at a time. One night, Dave Cross of HBO's Mr. Show happened to be in the audience, and he invited the duo to lend their, um, talents to the skits. The two became regulars on the show, and the bit quickly grew to be even bigger than the portly pair.
Soon, they found themselves opening for real bands like Beck and Pearl Jam, creating an increasingly large following of D-heads who would defend their unlikely heroes to the death.
The thing that actually makes the whole schtick work is simple: These guys are actually good. Black can do angelic falsetto. He can do guttural growl. He can do the tortured rock-epic wail just as well as any O70s rock superstar. Add that to Gass' acoustic skills and perfect-pitch harmonies, and you've got a real band.
But the D doesn't stop there. For their first-ever recording, they've recruited Dave Grohl to play guitar and drums and Phish's Page McConnell on keyboards. As if that weren't enough to ensure their badass status, they got the Dust Brothers (who have worked with everyone from Hanson to the Beastie Boys) to produce the album.
Amid the expletive-laced bitchy banter sit some legitimately good songs, although the duo never lets up on the heavy dose of humor throughout the album. In the rock On' roll saga "Tribute", Black and Gass tell the story of how they were challenged by the devil himself to play the best song in the world, "or I'll eat your souls." Black's interpretation of Satan is priceless in a troll-under-the-bridge sort of way. Do the two stand up to Lucifer's challenge? Of course. Can they remember how the song went? Uh-uh.
"We couldn't remember the greatest song in the world--this is just a tribute. You've gotta believe me," wails Black.
And for some reason, knowing the D, you just do.
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