SLIPPED A MICKEY: Decibel Goes to Disneyland with the Melvins

• Story (& Photos?) by J. Bennett
• Originally appeared in the September 2008 issue of Decibel Magazine.

It's Wednesday afternoon, and the tram from the Daisy Duck parking structure to Disneyland proper is teeming with humanity, flip-flops and fanny packs. Men, women, and children of all shapes and sizes are brimming with the kind of anticipation that only comes from years of merciless cultural conditioning. Meanwhile, Decibel's knees are crammed up against the back of the seat in front of us. It's a feeling we'll get used to over the course of the next six hours. Like many of the rides at Disneyland, the tram is not designed to accommodate anyone over six feet tall. Suddenly, a morbidly obese bald man in his 50s turns to his wife/sister/sow and says, "Did you see that on Regis & Kelly this morning? The alligator crawled right through the doggie door!"

In situations like this, the mind tends to wander. We think of that story we read in Radar a couple of years ago about the college kids who wear the character costumes at Disneyland; how a Snow White avoids turning up out of context at Space Mountain via a secret underground tunnel system where perpetually hung-over Mickeys, Minnies and Tarzans spend their lunch breaks drinking, screwing and vomiting in costume. We think about the dream we had the other night, in which Walt Disney's disembodied cryogenic head expressed its disapproval as we played "Stand By Me" on a toy piano: "What are you, some kind of faggot?"

Oh, Uncle Walt, you always did have a way with words.

But we're snapped out of our reverie by a middle-aged Nazi barking on the intercom.

"No lap-sitting, eating or drinking on the tram!" We immediately shove a piece of gum in our mouth just to spite this underpaid fascist. And then we arrive at The Place Where Dreams Come True.

ITʼS A MELVINS WORLD AFTER ALL

Melvins vocalist/guitarist Buzz Osborne and drummer Dale Crover are seated at an outdoor table at the La Brea Bakery Café in Downtown Disney, where one can enjoy a BLT with apple wood smoked bacon, butter lettuce, ripe vine tomatoes and avocado on grilled La Brea Country White Sourdough for a mere $12.95. With them are Croverʼs wife, Maureen, and the coupleʼs four-year-old daughter. As we await the arrival of Melvins bassist/vocalist Jared Warren and second drummer Coady Willis—alternately known as super–rock power–duo Big Business (now a trio)—Osborne lauds the virtues of the corporate cartoon wonderland weʼre about to enter. By his own estimate, heʼs been to Disneyland over a hundred times. “Itʼs the most psychedelic place ever,” he enthuses. “I would never take drugs and come here because theyʼd dull the experience.”

Weʼre here today because all four members of the Melvins have annual passes to both Disneyland and its sister park, California Adventure. And because the Melvins have a new album out called Nude With Boots and going to Disneyland seems like a lot more fun than talking on the phone about something tedious like “the recording process.” But mostly weʼre here because Decibel has never actually been to Disneyland and the Melvins were good enough to invite us. We quickly learn that Osborne is not only a huge Disney fan but also something of an expert on both the man and his Anaheim theme park. “Walt Disney was Howard Hughes with imagination,” Buzz beams. “He was an artist and a visionary. His attention to detail was second to none.”

Itʼs hard to recall the last time Osborne was this enthusiastic about anything in an interview. Usually, whether heʼs being asked about the Melvinsʼ colorful array of exbassists (a question that never seems to go away), why they have two drummers (since 2006), or the ultimate pedestrian query, “How do you get your hair like that?” he just seems totally fucking bored. And rightfully so: After 24 years of pumping out thunderous low-end classics like Houdini, Stoner Witch and Lysol, our manʼs tolerance level for bullshit is right around zero. Today, however, heʼs stressing the importance of Disneylandʼs forced-perspective design as if Decibelʼs personal enjoyment of the park may possibly hinge on this factor. “It makes every adult feel like theyʼre five years old,” he explains. “Nothing is left to chance.”

Osborneʼs earnestness is not only engaging; itʼs downright Andrew W.K.–esque. We learn that Disneylandʼs Main Street was modeled after the main street in Walt Disney ʼs Kansas hometown. When the park first opened in 1955, Uncle Walt used to keep an apartment above the fire station so he could oversee the day-to-day operations. According to author Mark Eliotʼs excellent unauthorized biography, Walt Disney: Hollywood ʼs Dark Prince (Osborne recommended this book; Decibel read it and does the same), Disney “loved to walk along Main Street, talk with the visitors and tousle the hair of children. However he passed most days locked inside the apartment, where he would stand by the window with tears streaming down his face as people walked along his boulevard of dreams.” When he wasnʼt crying in weird seclusion, Disney was busy testifying against his own employees in front of the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC), acting as a covert anti-union informant for the FBI and whitewashing his previous involvement with the pre–George Lincoln Rockwell version of the American Nazi Party.

Buzz first went to Disneyland back in the early ʻ70s, when he was in the third grade: “We made the 1,000–plus mile trip in an Impala, I think. It was February and it poured rain the entire time. I was a huge fan of the Disney TV show [then called The Wonderful World of Disney] and couldnʼt wait to see the Haunted Mansion. I was obsessed for months about it. When we finally arrived at Disney, I demanded we go to the Mansion first and was devastated to find it was closed for repairs... I donʼt think I ever got over it.”

The Haunted Mansion remains the favorite Disneyland amusement of both elder Melvins statesmen. Crover even has prints of the renowned Marc Davis paintings that decorate the Mansionʼs “Stretching Room” in his living room at home. “I proposed to my wife at the Haunted Mansion entrance,” he tells us. “The drummer from Mastodon actually did the same thing.” (Only, you know, with his own wife.) The Crovers commemorated their nuptials with a star in the pavilion that separates Disneyland from California Adventure.

Throughout the day, all four Melvins point out “hidden Mickeys”—the iconic mouse ears built subtly into seemingly every structure at Disneyland—and provide us with priceless nuggets of obscure information. The tunnel hieroglyphics on the Indiana Jones Adventure ride, for instance, translate into ads for AT&T. “I went on it when it first opened, maybe 10 years ago,” Buzz explains. “They handed out decoder cards for the hieroglyphics.”

Crover tells us that the Tower of Terror, a Twilight Zone–themed ride that launches a freight elevator full of moms, dads and kindergarteners up and down an exposed elevator shaft at top fucking speed, resembles the Ramada in Detroit: “You can tell it used to be super nice,” he says of the hotel, “but now itʼs totally haunted.”

When we enter the Enchanted Tiki Room, a mock-thatched roof hut that houses an ancient animatronic bird show, Buzz informs us that the canned theater-in-the-round performance weʼre about to see is “super-racist. Youʼll see—not very P.C.” Decibel didnʼt find anything particularly offensive about it, but then again, we love racial epithets (and irony!—ED). And the show is vaguely creepy for reasons that have nothing to do with its content; maybe itʼs just that 50-year-old macaw robots with Spanish, French and German accents are inherently unsettling. This impression is only amplified later, when we learn that Fritz the “German” macawʼs voice was originally recorded by Thurl Ravenscroft, who also provided the audio for Tony the Tiger of Frosted Flakes fame (until his death in 2005) and sang “Youʼre a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” on the original 1966 Dr. Seuss TV special, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!

HAIR POLICE

“Part of the whole Melvinsʼ Disneyland experience is walking about 10 paces behind Buzz and watching peopleʼs reactions,” Coady Willis confides as we walk about 10 paces behind Buzz and watch peopleʼs reactions. No sooner are the words out of his mouth when a little girl passing by walks into her sister because sheʼs too busy staring at Buzzʼs hair to watch where sheʼs going. But itʼs a female employee at the Winnie the Pooh ride who starts what will be a running commentary.

Her: I really like your hair!
Buzz: Thanks.
Her: I like it so much, you get a pin!
She reaches into her pocket and produces a large button that says “Honorary Citizen of Disneyland.”
Buzz: Thank you. Itʼs like a dream come true.
The humor is clearly lost on her, just as itʼs lost a few hours later when weʼre getting ready to board the California Screaminʼ roller-coaster for the third time in 30 minutes and some puffy-faced soccer dad feels obligated to pop the question for the benefit of his stupefied brood.
“Is your hair real?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” Buzz deadpans.

Afterwards, we retire to Arielʼs Grotto, a bar–restaurant that features “Under the Sea” character dining and a patio that overlooks California Screaminʼ. Osborne, a confirmed teetotaler, orders coffee. Crover opts for the Ultimate Bloody Mary. Willis orders a Corona with a shot of tequila on the side, while Warren announces that itʼs “time to get rip-towed” before ordering the Riptide Iced Tea, which as far as we can tell is the alkie Little Mermaid version of a Long Island Iced Tea.

As our drinks arrive, weʼre distracted by an overweight mom scolding her gaggle of overweight children. “I told you a hundred times to leave your brother alone!” she squawks. “If you hit him again, youʼre not getting a frozen banana. And weʼre going home!” Warren, who finished his own frozen banana (chocolate) about an hour ago, chuckles at this heart-warming display of domestic bliss. “Iʼve always wanted to make a documentary about family meltdowns at Disneyland—you know, parents fighting and yelling at their kids,” he says. “It happens all the time here, especially on hot days.”

Before leaving the Grotto, the waiter presents us with the bill. “Aw, we gotta pay?” Osborne mock-moans. “Thatʼs not making my dream come true.”

About a month later, we email Buzz a few post-mortem questions. His responses make our article come true.

How long have you had a season pass to Disneyland? What keeps you coming back for more?
Iʼve had a season pass for 10 or 11 years, maybe longer. I think Disneyland is a real kick. Hipsters have a problem with it that Iʼve never been able to fathom. Are they not into fun? Probably.

What is your least favorite aspect of Disneyland?
That I canʼt rent an apartment on Main Street.

Have you ever brought anyone there who didnʼt like it?
Well, when we were on tour with Tomahawk in 2003 we played the House-of-everything except-Blues in Downtown Disney, and Tomahawkʼs guitar player, Duane Denison, made fun of us for going on some rides after soundcheck. I hope to never be that grown up.