"Weird Al" Yankovic's most essential songs: 25 stinging satires that still endure

By 1999, “Weird Al” Yankovic had earned himself the opportunity to indulge whatever weird whim that crossed his mind and “Albuquerque” is one of his oddest flights of fancy: a rampaging, rambling narrative taken at a breakneck speed that doesn’t flag over the course of 11 minutes. Yankovic designed this as something of an endurance test to separate the diehards from fair-weather fans but, as luck would have it, his fans embraced it, probably because it crystalizes some of his appeal: it’s filled with jokes, both silly and clever, and the music is a bit more sophisticated than it initially seems.

The sensitive heartbroken ballad done “Weird Al” style. Yankovic croons sweetly over gently plucked acoustic guitars, recounting a series of grotesque abuse that he’s only now come to realize to mean that his woman no longer loves him. The jokes grow increasingly absurd (“You slammed my face down on the barbecue grill/Now my scars are all healing, but my heart never will”) but “Weird Al” never delivers his lines with a smirk, he keeps things soft and as syrupy as the synthesized strings that offer a pillow of support.

Despite its winding blooze rock riff and primitive stomp, “CNR” isn’t a strict send up of the White Stripes’s “Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground.” Instead, “Weird Al” hopscotches through a variety of signature White Stripes ticks—Jack White’s crunching chords and banshee wail, Meg White’s splashes of cymbals—as he spins tall tales of Charles Nelson Reilly, the actor and comedian who traded early Broadway success for TV game show immortality. As good as they are, the jokes get pummeled into the ground by some of the heaviest rock Yankovic ever set to tape.

Using the wild, shambolic talking blues of “Subterranean Homesick Blues” as his launching pad, “Weird Al” Yankovic pays tribute to Bob Dylan with an inventive extended wordplay: each line of “Bob” consists of a palindrome, a fact that’s only obvious once a listener spends a little time with a lyric sheet. Knowing the extent of his lyrical mischief deepens an appreciation for “Bob,” which otherwise plays as an inspired send-up of prime Dylan.

“Everything You Know Is Wrong” is an ingenious valentine to They Might Be Giants, the perpetually clever college rock duo of John Flansburgh and John Linnell. “Weird Al” zeroes in on the group’s power pop foundation and eye for odd pop culture detritus, littering the song with references to Jamie Farr, Colonel Sanders and Golden Grahams, none of which distract from the insistent, infectious hook that is among Yankovic’s very best original melodies.

Not a grunge song, that’d be too obvious, “My Baby’s In Love With Eddie Vedder” is a rollicking zydeco number that allows “Weird Al” Yankovic to pump his accordion in a rock and roll setting. The melody and beat have enough Louisiana bayou flair to nearly distract from the cavalcade of pointed grunge japes. “Weird Al” gets in an obvious dig at Vedder’s brooding angst (“every time I see him, well, he looks so grim/I guess it really must suck to be a rock star like him”) but cleverly tweaks Pearl Jam’s crusade against corporate concerts with the immortal line “I knew we were headin’ for disaster/When she caught me hangin’ out at the Ticketmaster.”

Every epic deserves another epic: the release of The Phantom Menace, the first of the Star Wars prequels, inspired “Weird Al” Yankovic to set the story of the young Anakin Skywalker to the tune of Don McLean’s”American Pie.” Taking his title from the tagline on the movie’s teaser poster—”Every Saga Has A Beginning”—Yankovic cobbled together the storyline through online spoilers, so he had his rambling tale set to go when the film hit the theaters in the summer of 1999. Such quick work is impressive, particularly because “may be Vader some day later, now he’s just a small fry” flows as naturally as anything McLean wrote.

“Melanie” is power pop incarnate. It shimmers with harmonies and layered guitars, not to mention a chorus that echoes one of the greatest power-pop songs ever made, Marshall Crenshaw’s “You’re My Favorite Waste Of Time.” Based on the jangle-pop sound alone, “Melanie” could be mistaken for any number of skinny-tie groups, it’s that the obsessive narrator of the song mirrors the lovelorn sentiments endemic to power pop, making this a multi-level parody.

One of the hookiest pop originals “Weird Al” ever wrote, “Midnight Star” is an ode to the ludicrous exploitations housed within supermarket tabloids. Looking back at his body of work, it’s no surprise that Yankovic has a soft spot for stories about the Incredible Frog Boy, aliens, and ESP—he specializes on the oddballs that reside in the outer limits of pop culture—yet it’s striking that he can romanticize all this ugliness in such a chipper pop tune with no overt debts to any specific act.

While it didn’t come close to matching the chart success of “Eat It”—which rode the Thriller wave all the way to number 12—”Like A Surgeon” played a crucial role in “Weird Al” Yankovic’s career: it proved that he wasn’t a one hit wonder, and that he could turn out another credible satire at the drop of a hat. The single also benefits from a decrease in the manic energy that characterized many of Yankovic’s earliest singles: he sounds as calm and assured as, well, a surgeon as he takes the knife to one of Madonna’s biggest early hits.

Every pop perennial needs a Christmas song of their own and “The Night Santa Went Crazy” is “Weird Al” Yankovic’s. The title implies something zany, either in the lyrics or tempo, but Yankovic delivers a curveball. Taking a cue from Soul Asylum’s blue collar anthem “Black Gold,” he delivers a murder ballad about a killing spree at the North Pole—a tale that’s also available in an “Extra Gory Version.” The gruesome saga of Santa going postal overshadowed a previous “Weird Al” holiday tune called “Christmas At Ground Zero,” maybe because he was able to manufacture a credible workingman’s rock song here.

“Word Crimes” might wind up being the last time “Weird Al” Yankovic pulled off his peculiar magic trick of discovering something unexpected lurking deep within a familiar tune. Here, he abandons all the carnality of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” while preserving the party atmosphere, turning that exuberance into an extended grammar lesson. Sure, it’s silly but like so many of the best “Weird Al” Yankovic songs, it’s much smarter than it seems upon first glance.

“Polkas on 45"—its very name a nod to the schlocky Stars on 45 series popular in the early 1980s—is the first of “Weird Al” Yankovic’s polka medleys and it’s still the best. The key is its broad appeal: he’s not concentrating on current hits, he’s throwing classic rock hits, new wave and, yes, polka numbers together, providing such gloriously incongruous pairings as Berlin’s icy “Sex (I’m A…)“ giving way to “Hey Jude.” This is four minutes and 20 seconds of inspired silliness.

“Weird Al” Yankovic released “I Lost On Jeopardy” during the brief window when no version of the syndicated game show Jeopardy! appeared on the air. The show may have disappeared from the airwaves but when faced with the task of parodying Greg Kihn’s new wave hit “Jeopardy” there Yankovic had no other option than turning that nervy tune into a tall tale about failing to win the big prizes. In a sense, “Weird Al” really tapped into the paranoia at the heart of Kihn’s song: there really is nothing more humiliating than flailing in front of a national audience.

The song that started it all. “Weird Al” Yankovic recorded his first parody in a bathroom at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, with the cramped, compressed setting accentuating his odd, outsider energy. When he re-recorded it in 1983, the tempo was faster, the energy manic: he sounds weirder there, and still appealing, but it’s the original single version that seems like a transmission from another dimension.

The composition of “Yoda” dates back to the original release of The Empire Strikes Back in 1980. “Weird Al” even aired an early version on The Dr. Demento Show prior to the success of “Eat It,” but it was that Michael Jackson parody that convinced head Kink Ray Davies to grant permission for Yankovic to turn his gender-bending classic “Lola” into a loving salute to the biggest star on Dagobah. The concept seems limited in its appeal but “Yoda” benefits from Yankovic’s sharp storytelling, which is one of his underrated gifts.

“Weird Al” Yankovic’s standard operating parody procedure is to find an element within the melody or rhythm of a smash hit that suggests a silly story or phrase. “Smells Like Nirvana” is different: he spends the song griping about how he can’t figure out what the hell Kurt Cobain is singing about on “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” It’s a clever conceit, one that gained approval of Nirvana, and it works because “Weird Al”’s spin on “Teen Spirit” actually sounds fairly grungy: the guitars slice like razors, he screams until he’s shredded his throat.

The theme song to “Weird Al” Yankovic’s 1989 motion picture debut, “UHF” leaves its pseudo-inspiration of “State Of Shock”—a semi-forgotten hit from Michael Jackson’s imperial phase featuring guest vocals by Mick Jagger—in the dust by going bigger and bolder. Like its accompanying film, “UHF” presents all the familiar “Weird Al” silliness, only blown up for the silver screen. It’s longer, louder and busier than the average Yankovic song but that’s the fun of it: “Weird Al” is rising to the occasion that a feature film provides.

Designed as an old-fashioned oldie, complete with vocal harmonies straight out of doo wop, “One More Minute” flips romantic conventions on its head. With producer Rick Derringer helping him approximate the soda shop sway of the 1950s, “Weird Al” Yankovic deals with being dumped by telling his ex-lover all the painful things that he’d rather do than spend another minute with her. The list grows long and gross, so it’s good that the music keeps things sweet.

Recorded live on The Dr. Demento Show in 1980, “Another One Rides the Bus” carries a peculiar, particular energy that separates it from the rest of the “Weird Al” Yankovic catalog. Here, he sounds a bit demented, the kind of person you wouldn’t want to sit by you on a crowded bus. Blame it on his comical vocal exaggerations or the bargain basement production values but that cheapness gives “Another One Rides The Bus” real verve and makes it seem almost like outsider art.

The best of “Weird Al” Yankovic’s artist pastiches, “Dog Eat Dog” sends up the corporate climbing of the 1980s through the prism of Talking Heads. Yankovic masterfully mimics a number of David Byrne’s vocal tics on a song that fuses the bright pop of Little Creatures with the icier elements of Remain in Light, making direct references to “Once In A Lifetime” and “Found A Job.” It’s such a specific satire that it winds up existing on its own plane: it captures the feel of a certain manic energy of the 1980s as much as it does Talking Heads themselves.

A patented bit of “Weird Al” absurdity, “Amish Paradise” spins Coolio’s foreboding “Gangsta’s Paradise” into a satire of the pacifist Christian religious sect. Retaining the neo-gospel structure interpolated from Stevie Wonder, Yankovic takes aim at the conspicuous lack of modernity among the Amish, conceding the fact “if I finish all of my chores and you finish thine/Then tonight we’re gonna party like it’s 1699.” Upon its release, such jibes rankled Coolio—his record company granted permission for “Weird Al” to parody, he didn’t—but he came to admit that the song was indeed pretty funny.

The big one, the one that brought “Weird Al” Yankovic to a national audience, “Eat It” undoubtedly benefited from the fact that it was a satire of “Beat It,” one of the biggest hits from the biggest album of the 1980s, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. “Weird Al” still has the nervy whine that powered such early singles as “My Bologna” but producer Rick Derringer gave the tune some color and texture: maybe it didn’t rock as hard as “Beat It” but it’s cut-rate approximation suited “Weird Al”’s performance, plus Derringer laid down a killer replica of the famed Eddie Van Halen solo from the original.

“White & Nerdy” is a minor miracle of sorts. Well into his third decade as a performer, “Weird Al’’ Yankovic claimed his first-ever Top 10 hit with this parody of “Ridin’,” a hip-hop anthem from Chamillionaire and Krayzie Bone. He reached such heights because he not only adapts to current fashion, he’s sharpened his skills as a writer over the years: the jokes on “White & Nerdy” are specific, detailed and stand apart from the satire. Of course, they’re meant to be heard as this booming, bass heavy single, where Yankovic manages to nail the speedy cadences of Charmillionaire without seeming patronizing. Ultimately that’s the key to his long-lasting success: his parodies come from affection, not anger.