David Cross' album Shut Up, You Fucking Baby!was a smoldering volley of incensed, seething rage, recycling thenegative energy that had piled up in our society in the last few yearsinto a colossal release of tension and anger through sensible humor. Onthat disc, Cross took a catalogue of indignities and frustrations andturned them into weapons against themselves, and calming an equallyannoyed audience by showing them they weren't the only ones thinkingabout these things. A year later, a slightly calmer but nonethelessintense Cross is back to not let anyone forget. Cross' track titles,which still have no actual bearing on what he is talking about on aparticular track, take thinly veiled jabs at other comedians like "Arapid series of comical noises," "My immigrant mom talks funny," and"My child is enthralling, especially when it says somethingunexpectedly precocious even though it doesn't understand what it justsaid!" Surprisingly in light of that last title, Cross begins the setwith a rumination on his friend's newborn children and how they borehim with their stories. He takes this topic into deviously dark places,though, and makes it a palatable opener with a few quick bursts ofbrilliantly crass stabs. Throughout his comedy, Cross positions himselfas the underground town crier, pointing out the foibles of mainstreamsociety that seem absurd to all those who pride themselves upon beingliterate, informed, and quite possibly too haughty for their own goodat times. When he is truly on, this side of Cross is a blistering,riotous, sneering champion of common sense. In the space of threeminutes, Cross hits upon consumer catastrophes, what passes fortraditional entertainment, and the banality of mainstream rock music.The examination of the 'electric scissors' treads much of the sameground as his look at the "squagle," or square bagel, on his last albumShut Up, You Fucking Baby!, but lacks the pure, seething vitrioland expert setup that that story had. He quickly segues from that intoa cute mocking of Family Circus, admittedly an easy target, but wellmined by Cross to elicit laughter. From there, he engages an audiencemember in a discussion of Evanescence, Staind, and P.O.D. For a moment,one might imagine cross standing in the corner of a dark club, drinkinghis Pabst Blue Ribbon and holding court with a gaggle of shabbilyattired hipsters, dispensing of these immaterial offenses in rapidsuccession-describing the aforementioned bands as "corporate" and"phony." He's right, of course, though here he edges betweendisseminating important cultural information and preaching to thechoir, finally saving it with another savage slice, claiming that hewould "rather hear the death rattle of my only child," than listen totheir music. Cross is at his peak when frothing at the mouth aboutsomething so obviously apparent that everyone should, but doesn't,realize. Like on his last album, he touches on the Bush administrationsmangling and dumbing down of our global situation by merely stating thefacts in a straightforward and exasperated way that makes it all themore powerful. While there is less shouting in these passages, there isjust as much weight behind Cross' incisive sarcasm and satire. It's Not Funnyis an apt title for this disc, not because Cross doesn't provide plentyof laugh out loud moments, but because the topics he is musing over areof extreme gravity. Thorough his craft, Cross is showing us thefailings that are before everyone's eyes, that are being missed by adazed public. Showing them in an approachable and humorous way, he iswaging his own little war on complacency, and giving everyone a goodtime while doing it. Read More
