The Singles Jukebox

“Weird Al”‘s first Jukebox appearance… today, we have finally truly become the Singles Jokebox.

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TA Inskeep: Oh look, vaguely recent pop hits set to polkas. <Miranda Priestly voice> Groundbreaking. </Miranda Priestly voice>
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Kat Stevens: There are a certain subset of songs which I’ve only ever encountered in “Weird Al” polka medley form: I have no idea what the original “Cradle of Love” sounds like, nor have I any real interest in finding out. So it spoils the fun a little when it turns out I know all the tunes already.
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Julian Axelrod: “Weird Al” Yankovic was one of my first favorite artists, which means I was exposed to some of the biggest pop hits in history via parodies and polka medleys. So while “Polkamania!” might disgust and confound the average listener, I find it charming that he’s still committing to this incredibly specific bit forty years into his career. It’s been a decade since “NOW That’s What I Call Polka!”, which means Al has a wide array of hits to cover, from the obvious (“Shake It Off”) to the inspired (“Vampire”) to the baffling. (My biggest laugh came not from his polkafied version of “WAP,” but the censored rendition of “Thank U, Next” that immediately follows.) It’s hard to judge this through a contemporary critical lens when it exists mainly as a funhouse inversion of pop’s immediate past. Listening to a “Weird Al” polka medley in the year 2024 feels like returning to your hometown and finding out your favorite old haunt is still standing and still run by the same curly-haired weirdo, untouched by the evolution of taste and the passage of time.
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Katherine St. Asaph: A foil to Eminem: Em is crass where Al is gosh-darn unoffensive, dying to offend where Al is dying to please, but the two artists share a drive to present themselves as more chaotic than they actually are. (I interviewed “Weird Al” once, and he was so unwaveringly on-message that it felt like interviewing a career politician.) Their pop-culture medleys are as routine and unsurprising as holiday concerts, though Al’s are more event managed: doing the press circuit, he was happy to break down all the logistics of the “Polkamania” assembly and approval process. In doing so, he critiqued the song better than I ever could: SZA ghosted him, but Lin-Manuel Miranda returned his call in like 30 seconds.
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Tim de Reuse: I’m sorry, Al. This kind of thing was your bread and butter, but we’ve pulled the rug out from under you. The genre-cloud of “recognizable song awkwardly re-rendered in different style” is the basis for a million clickbait YouTube thumbnails, ten percent of all videos on TikTok, and probably a quarter of all audio-based generative AI prompts. I’ve already heard all of these songs as Gregorian chant, as Norwegian black metal, Midwest emo, using the soundfonts from Super Mario 64, performed by a bad Kate Bush impersonator, in fucking “Negative Harmony” — never of my own volition. This stuff is just in the air now, competing for my attention, and it all sounds the same as every cell phone ad. Wat’s left here? Polka? Is polka still funny on its own merits? Was it ever? It’s not you, Al. It’s us. I’m sorry for what we did.
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Joshua Lu: “NOW That’s What I Call Polka!” was a guilty pleasure of mine, operating as a genuinely catchy and humorous summation of then-recent hits made by a man with a palatable appreciation for pop music and a knack for taking on unserious tasks with the utmost seriousness. “Polkamania!” is mostly the same, and in being his first mashup since then (aside from some Hamilton thing I can’t bring myself to listen to), he’s had to distill over a decade of hits down instead of just a few years’ worth. All of these songs included make sense, but every other song just instills a sense of “Oh yeah, that was a thing once,” culminating in a Taylor Swift remake that surely would’ve amused me in 2013 but now just feels a dozen lifetimes old. It doesn’t help that some of these songs are just kind of boring and don’t offer much by way of humor, forcing pretty straightforward polkafications and awkward transitions. 
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Ian Mathers: Look, none of these will ever equal “Polka Your Eyes Out” to me, both because of the song selection there and because I was 10 when it came out. But I’m happy Al’s out there doing his thing, and I hope he never changes.
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Mark Sinker: OK, back in April some clown called on him to become our beloved worm-man god-emperor, and now look what happened: “Brat Al” Yankovic! There’s a whole slab of cultural and music theory to be explored one day, about what happens when you convert modern pop into sheet music and then convert it back out again into your favoured local sound-style: what gets elided, but also what’s gained (not nothing)! And maybe some day someone will write it up — but that day is not today and that someone is not me. 
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Hannah Jocelyn: The polka medleys were never my favorites; it’s almost always the same shtick and there’s none of the cleverness of his usual material or his (underappreciated!) style parodies. There’s inspiration here to be sure, “Weird Al” doing “Bad Guy” as klezmer gets this a positive score on those grounds alone. Maybe if he released this five years ago or in five years it would work and not fall victim to the Anxious Interval. But this is “Weird Al”, long-reigning king of kitsch. Who wants him to be in touch?
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Nortey Dowuona: Both 10 years out of date and 10 years into the future. Welcome back, polka. (And “Weird Al,” too.)
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Taylor Alatorre: I appreciate that there’s a person out there who can get me to say with a straight face a sentence like “I miss when the polkas were more thematically consistent.”
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Jonathan Bradley: “Weird Al” sucks. I feel so mean to say that: people love this guy who, let’s face it, is completely harmless and has been delighting (mostly) children for decades, and here I am telling you how appalled I feel that we celebrate such a pristinely executed vision of pure crappiness. And yet, here we are blurbing him, so: I hate the querulous insipidity of Al’s interpretation of pop music. His schtick demands familiarity with pop — otherwise the parodies make no sense — but shies away from the music’s flair and vision and emotion, as if the pleasure these things offer is too terrifying and too adult, and must be remediated through the lens of banality so as to be controlled. His jokes rarely riff on details of the texts themselves, the way a Lonely Island video might, but replace any intensity of feeling with artefacts of suburban triviality: crappy television, crappy minor medical ailments, and so much crappy, crappy food. Even the verisimilitude of his productions — his greatest actual talent — runs headlong into the crappiness of his adenoidal voice, reassuring us that he’s not so proficient at his craft as to be mistaken for a star. And then there’s his sideshow of playing covers with an accordion, which we understand to be a joke instrument, in the style of polka, which we understand to be a joke genre. Is his polka any good? None of his listeners care. Do they go on to explore more polka? Why would they? Do people who enjoy polka think Al is contributing anything to the music they love? Who cares; the incredible notion that someone somewhere might enjoy polka is part of the joke. Because the most desiccated and shriveled aspect of Al’s relationship with pop is that he can’t imagine it has its own jokes. Cardi B is funnier in “WAP” than he is here. Lil Nas X was a better troll on “Old Town Road.” Billie Eilish had better comic timing with her interjected “duh” on “Bad Guy.” And I understand how churlish I sound saying all this. I am Seymour Skinner; I am Ed Rooney. But I like jokes! (I’m not mad. Please don’t put in the newspaper that I got mad.) The problem is that there is nothing fun happening here!
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Alfred Soto: I’m happy Al exists. This song sucks.
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