Martin Mull: Post-Acid Pollyanna (Just for the Pun of It)
[Martin Mull's] songs are a glossy and smoothly subtle blend of many influences shaped and channeled by a unique and whimsically droll point of view. Some of the songs are hymns in praise of such mundane subjects as eggs and Miami ("The only fish around are Nova Scotia lox") but mostly simply tell stories, exploring the narrow but fascinating range of ramifications spreading out from the dropping of an often tiny pebble of aberration into the placid waters of the American norm: a lover learns ventriloquism, a middleclass maiden loses her ring finger to a washing machine, a man marries a midget, a freak turns to booze and a classified ad for girls "to live in dreams" spirals into a flapper bachannal whose dionysian Dixieland rhythms bring to mind those jungle swing cartoons in which vaguely negroid monkeys kept the beat with coconuts on each other's heads. His lyrics are feasts for semantic sado-masochists addicted to punishment; he tries harder so it hertz. Even his alliterative name shimmers with a score of tempting, awful puns (Mulls it over, Mullti-talented, and, when he's playing the blues, Martin Mullatto) but the album's are better. (p. 45)
Mull's music runs directly and consciously counter to the half-decade old tendency of rock to examine life in terms of mass psychic migrations or as immeasurably profound pirouettes in Shiva's cosmic choreography….
Mull thus places himself firmly among a group of artists working from an alternate sensibility, of whom the best example is Randy Newman. Like Mull, Newman's bleeding heart is not prominently displayed on his sleeve. Instead, both make their points with subtlety, grace and wit. (p. 47)
There is also a genuine sentimentality; not maudlin gushiness but an appreciation of small pleasures and minor accomplishments. Although he occasionally and very successfully indulges in parody, Mull is not a satirist. In "Livin' Above My Station," he left-handedly celebrates the life of a man who has made a success of doing what he's good at, "Pumpin' gas and fixin' tires," a life other songwriters have validly treated with derision and contempt….
In Martin Mull somewhere, there is an innocent child, a post-acid Pollyanna, wide-eyed and loving, whom he tenaciously shelters and, perhaps, disguises with an umbrella of wit and sophistication. This is the part of him in love with Walt Disney and his universe of artifice and fantasy where good and evil are defined by the words cute and nasty. It is a diminutive world where the greatest tragedy is a pie in the face, a world unlike our own, a world once again on a human scale….
[Martin Mull] makes the first impression of an amusing but not very weighty work. Later, the depth of significance in those wincingly clever puns starts to reveal itself, the economy and smoothness of exposition becomes apparent, and the intelligence and complexity of the arrangements and production begins to tantalize your ear. And before you realize it, this "novelty" is dominating your collection. Because, like all excellent records, you find something new in it with each listening, a new connection, a further revelation of Mull's talent and craftsmanship. (p. 50)
Patrick Snyder-Scumpy, "Martin Mull: Post-Acid Pollyanna (Just for the Pun of It)," in Crawdaddy (copyright © 1973 by Crawdaddy Publishing Co., Inc.; all rights reserved; reprinted by permission), March, 1973, pp. 45-50.
Get Ahead with eNotes
Start your 48-hour free trial to access everything you need to rise to the top of the class. Enjoy expert answers and study guides ad-free and take your learning to the next level.
Already a member? Log in here.