Tragic Kingdom - The Dandy Warhols Do Disneyland

Revolver
by Alan Di Perna
Fall 2000

It's 10:30 A.M. and The Dandy Warhols are extremely hung over, or in their parlance, crapulous. A house party in the Hollywood Hills has kept them out till four in the morning, and now they're supposed to do Disneyland with Revolver. We're here, basically, to promote the band's new album, Thirteen Tales From Urban Bohemia (Capitol). Their third disc to date, it's also their best, dripping with the quartet's signature hollandaise of post-modern ennui and guitar pop hooks. This time out, the Dandys put their bratty, self-consciously Velvet Underground spin on everything from gospel to droning psychedelia to country blues to urban Latino hip-hop, with results sure to delight jaded connoisseurs of meta-pop irony.
But Disneyland? How are they gonna justify this as a tale from Urban Bohemia?
"We're not," croaks chief Dandy Courtney Taylor, his veneer of druggy hipster lethargy thickened appreciably by a rising tide of nausea.
Oh, what the hell - the record company's paying. First off, bassist Zia McCabe wants to go to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, where she expects to find pina coladas. (Because pirates drink rum, presumably.) Sadly, though, there is no booze in the Magic Kingdom. Maybe it's time to start some trouble.
"I could flash my tits," offers Zia. "But I don't wanna get kicked out. I'm having too much fun."
Guitarist Peter Holmstrom and drummer Brent DeBoer have their photo taken with Belle from Beauty and the Beast - obviously some out-of-luck actress with bare shoulders and a forced smile reduced to talking in a twee voice all day long. Brent tries to put his arm around her, but is rebuffed with a well-practiced blocking maneuver.
"Man, she had me immobilized in half a second," the drummer marvels.
Apparently, there is no nookie in the Magic Kingdom, either.
"At the Happiest Place on Earth, nobody between the ages of 20 and 30 is single," says Courtney, who then wanders off, bored. Later, beneath the monorail, he confesses he wouldn't mind working at Disneyland for a season. He once worked the door at a rock club in his native Portland and did time in a strip club as a DJ, doorman, and janitor. "Like every young intellectual, I've always been fascinated by the common man," he says.
It's 8:40 P.M. The electric Parade is over, and we're heading toward the exit. The thoroughfare is strewn with garbage and confetti. The Dandy Warhols' spirits are improving - maybe because they're the only ones in sight without a squalling brat in tow.
"Ten thousand spankings were administered at the Happiest Place on Earth today," Taylor laments. "And twenty thousand little arms get yanked."