No other event of 2007 worked its way into my subconscious, my lexicon or my daily interactions like the first season of Flight of the Conchords. This might be because nothing else was funnier, more engaging or oddly relevant to my own life. After all, Conchords isn’t so much a musical sitcom as it is a subtly brilliant sonnet for the confused, impoverished and selectively motivated 20-something New Yorker.
New York is often portrayed in television (usually on the Warner Brothers’ lot in Burbank) but it rarely resembles the city as I’ve always seen it. The fault lies somewhere between TV’s tendency to glamorize everything and my own, sorry socioeconomic standing. New York is a city of oddly socialized lifers and a slew of immigrants, ex-pats and drifters from far off lands – be they North Dakota or New Zealand. Bret and Jemaine happen to be from the latter, but it really doesn’t matter. It also doesn’t particularly matter that they be in New York, because their struggle is universal. The locale just makes me like it more.
Taking the HBO water cooler phenomenon to the next level, Conchords wasn’t just fodder for Monday morning discussions. Any one of the many three-minute breaks in each episode could prompt a week’s worth of Tourette’s-fueled musical moments for its more rabid viewers. The Sopranos certainly struck a chord with the American public, but for every media mention of their series finale, I’ve noticed at least three partygoers or strangers on the street break into binary solos. For these few reasons, and many more, Flight of the Conchords is both one of my favorites and a cultural first – a serial slacker comedy focusing on hyper-emotional young men who frequently burst into song and/or dance. Its return will likely be one of the most heralded premieres you’ll see covered here in ’08.
