According to “Bob’s Burgers” creator Loren Bouchard, the big-screen adaptation of his cult animated sitcom — due in 2020 — might be called “Horseplay: The Horsening.”

Well, probably not. It’s a classic Bouchard joke: a microcosm of “Bob’s” humor. It’s so absurd as to border on anti-humor, inexorably tied to its characters’ essential traits (Bob’s daughter Tina loves horses and zombies, so a movie called “Horseplay: The Horsening” would be right up her alley). Topped off with a bit of ‘80s-baby nostalgia in how it sounds like one of the low-rent gore flicks alongside which Boucher grew up.

But were Bouchard to actually make a horse-themed horror movie, I wouldn’t complain. One of the show’s unsung traits, which points to a promising potential direction for the impending film, is a sly mastery of horror and an understanding of how the genre works.

Let’s not forget that season two’s “Fort Night,” often ranked among the show’s best episodes, is essentially a horror short. The kids of the show’s burger-flipping Belcher family get trapped in their box fort under the ominously hanging ramp of a loading truck — which not only seals their sole means of escape but could come crashing down at any minute.

Adding to the torment is the psychotic Millie, a classmate of youngest child Louise who could help them if Louise hadn’t spurned her earlier in the episode. We know the kids aren’t going to die, but the stakes are so high and the space so convincingly claustrophobic that it keeps us on edge. It pays off with a brilliant revenge against Millie that deftly snaps the scenario back to comedy.

Many of the show’s most memorable moments are also its most terrifying. In “Housetrap,” the family is stuck in a house with a potential murderer, and while most of the tension is played for laughs, the episode features one of the most chilling shots seen in an animated comedy: the killer stands straight up in the dark behind one of the heroes. “The Hauntening” takes us so deep into a suburban horror scenario that when the curtain is lifted, we remember with a shock we’re watching a sitcom. The fact that it’s all wrapped up in humor does nothing to dull the effect.

The people making this show know their stuff. The best joke in “The Last Gingerbread House On The Left” (named after a ‘70s horror classic) involves a guy who looks eerily like the half-dead grandfather in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” until he wakes up in his wheelchair with a start.

If you’ve seen the movie, the laughs come from recognizing this; if you haven’t, they come from how he opens his eyes with a start and huffs “Huh?” Likewise, a traumatic memory of Bob’s in “House of 1,000 Bounces” is taken verbatim from “The Birds.” If you’ve seen “The Birds,” the humor comes from knowing this, but even if you haven’t, his friend Teddy dryly informing him, “You’re describing a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’” should split your sides just fine.

Could a couple scenes and some well-honed horror smarts carry over to a full-length feature? Absolutely. Let’s say the movie actually ends up being called “Horseplay: The Horsening” and is exactly what it sounds like — horse horror. They could start with the ominous signs: A disembodied clip-clop and a sixteen-hand shadow against the wall. Then they could go into the subplot: something ridiculous involving the parents — maybe them trying to get meat from their meat provider on short notice, I don’t know. We forget we’re in a horror movie for a second, which makes it scarier when the zombie horses actually show up. And then the two plot threads come together and the whole thing explodes into brilliant, comforting comedy.

I want this movie.

The post Bromfield: The Case For A ‘Bob’s Burgers’ Horror Movie appeared first on Emerald Media.

Quin Wise and the Heads Up is a “band of happy accidents.”

They might not have landed a single gig yet if the two shows they’ve played so far hadn’t had other people drop out. They happened to know the owners of the house hosting the first show, which featured longtime local heroes Pluto the Planet — who happily recommended them to the people hosting the second show.

They’ve already made something of a name for themselves. 

“I was rolling to class the Monday after our first show and on the way there two people said, ‘I saw you on somebody’s Snapchat story, I didn’t know you were in a band!’” said Wise, the band’s singer and guitarist. 

They’ve had plenty more offers for shows, but they’re currently training their newest recruit: keyboardist August King, who played with guitarist Alan Aslan in the defunct University of Oregon Hip Hop Ensemble, also known as the Illaquips.

“I’ve known him for four hours and he’s already layin’ it down,” said Wise.

It was a happy accident that brought the band together in the first place. After drummer David McKean found his apartment couldn’t accommodate his kit, Wise offered his new place.

“It was almost like two seventh graders asking each other out — ‘do you wanna be in a band?’ ‘I dunno, do you want to?’” said Wise.

Aslan joined soon after. They started out as a three-piece with Aslan on bass before Evan Fleming, a mutual friend from the dorms, came on board for four-string duties.

“It was gonna be a three-piece, but soon as Evan got mentioned…,” says a smiling Aslan, who now shares guitar duties with Wise.

The band figured it was only natural to name the band after Wise, who hosts the space, writes the band’s material and acts as manager. The Heads Up isn’t particularly attached to its frontman, either; they’re planning on cutting some R&B-oriented material with a different singer and are open to performing with anyone who’s interested. 

With Wise, they mostly play blues and blues-rock, both originals and classic covers. Their cover repertoire includes The Rolling Stones’ “Honky Tonk Women” and Otis Redding’s “Hard To Handle,” made a hit in 1990 by the Black Crowes. These are bar-band standards, but, according to Aslan:

“It’s music we’ve all grown up with that inspired us to pick up our instruments in the first place. I hope they bring a sense of childhood joy in our audience. If you discovered the Rolling Stones just now in your ‘20s that’s great, but it’s better to reminisce in your 20s.”

The band members are all seniors at UO, except for King, who is a junior. What will happen after graduation is uncertain, but they’ve got plenty of shows lined up and intend to cut a demo once King is up to speed on their songs.

“I’d like to see this band keep chugging along until graduation,” says Aslan. “And after that, who knows what can happen.”

If you’re a young musician who has just arrived at the University of Oregon and looking to make a name for yourself on the local music scene, you’ll no doubt be relieved to hear it’s not hard to do at all — so long as you follow these tips.

Have a good name. By this, I mean avoid any name you would have thought was cool in middle school. If you’re called “Cosmic Ostrich And The Electric Wienerschnitzel,” good luck headlining any gigs.

Be memorable. If all you’ve ever wanted to do is make music that sounds like Modest Mouse, godspeed to you, but good luck carving a niche for yourself in the hyper-regional Eugene scene. If you’re an avant-garde Balkan soul-funk ensemble, you’ll probably be a lot easier to remember.

Go to tons of other shows. The easiest way to network and make connections in your local music scene is to go to as many shows as possible — especially house shows, which can be hard to find unless you know where to look. Talk to the bands; see if they want to play a show together sometime. And talk to the people in the crowd, too; they’re as passionate as you.

Play as much as you can. The best way to establish yourself on the local scene is by having your name pop up as much as possible. If people see your name on a lot of flyers, they’ll remember it. It’s not hard to book shows, especially bar shows (which have the benefit of a paycheck). Get a few of the bands you met at the last show you went to together and throw a party.

Retrofit your set for bar vs. house shows. At bar shows, people are mostly just trying to be serenaded while they drink, so it’s best to play it straight at your next Black Forest or Luckey’s gig. At house shows, people are there for the music, so do whatever the fuck you want.

Put on a show. People watch live music to be entertained, and it’s not terribly entertaining if your idea of “performance” is staring at your feet and pretending the audience doesn’t exist. Prance around a bit. Wear something ridiculous. Say weird shit to the audience. Bust out some covers.

Don’t just write songs about college. It’s easy to fall back on writing lyrics about drinking beer and getting high and watching Netflix because if you’re in college and you’re in a band, that’s probably what you’re doing most of the time. But if you’re looking for any kind of longevity outside your local scene, it’s best to think broad and more timeless.

Danny Brown is a born performer. He craves the spotlight, grinning, flashing devil horns, waggling his self-proclaimed million-dollar tongue at the crowd. Maybe it’s something to do with only being famous for about a third of his career. Maybe he’s just on a lot of pills. But the guy seems genuinely thrilled to do his thing night after night, even for mollied-out college kids like the ones that packed the WOW Hall at his Eugene tour stop yesterday.

The same couldn’t be said about Maxo Kream, the great but clearly weary Houston rapper who opened the show. He admitted to the crowd he was “coming down off a Xan,” and he was clearly crashing pretty hard. One wonders why he didn’t take it later, but maybe he, like the crowd, wasn’t expecting the DJ to spin for a solid 45 minutes before any sign of a rapper onstage. He barely bothered to rap, spending much of his time onstage desperately entreating the audience to shout his name and put their hands up. 

Compare that to Brown, who asked the audience to put their hands up only twice. Not only did they immediately oblige, they cheered while doing it.

The difference a great performer can make at a hip hop show is crucial. Given the frequent lack of anything to watch onstage at rap shows, it can be difficult for those not intimately familiar with the music to have much fun at one. Brown had the benefit of not only being fascinating to watch with all the hair-flipping and tongue-waving and rock-star prancing, but having memorable enough songs that even casual fans probably know a lot of his one-liners by heart. Who doesn’t remember where they were when they first heard Brown spit “She about to go make it rain/thunder-fucking-storm/kush nug get to the brain/pop-fucking-corn?” 

Brown’s set was strictly chronological, excluding tracks from his all-but-forgotten debut The Hybrid. He opened with a solid block of songs from his 2011 breakout XXX before segueing into 2013’s Old, non-album single “Grown Up,” Rustie collaboration “Attak,” and a few cuts from the freshly dropped Atrocity Exhibition to finish it off. This worked in part because Brown’s last three albums are roughly equally beloved. Most critics, including this one, would agree XXX is his best work. The songs from Old, an appeal to the festival crowd, worked the best live. And the pessimistic Atrocity Exhibition is hardly a party album, but it’s still fresh in fans’ minds. The venue cut Brown off before he could play more than a handful of songs from that record, but at least he got the bangers — “Really Doe” and “Pneumonia” — out of the way.

Unusually for a WOW show, no re-entries were allowed. Perhaps this explains why the bathroom and bar lines were interminable, seeing as at most WOW shows it’s easy to just go out on the street to do what you’d otherwise do at either of those places.

Solange’s A Seat At The Table already feels guaranteed a spot in the pantheon of Black Lives Matter-era protest albums — especially remarkable given how effortless, unforced, and non-epic it is. Unlike something like Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly, which aims for roughly the same scope as, say, Angels In America, A Seat At A Table feels like a simple labor of love, a chance for a singer with a big platform to vent on an issue close to home.

A Seat At The Table’s truths are expressed simply and directly, both in the songs and the interludes that divide them. There’s no misinterpreting Solange’s mom Tina when she calmly, clearly dismantles the absurd logic of “reverse racism.” It might take a bit more effort to parse something like “You want to be the teacher/don’t want to go to school/don’t want to do the dishes/just want to eat the food,” on “Junie.” If you’re already versed in the cultural-appropriation debate, this line will probably make sense. If you’re not, it’s hard to argue with such hard truth.

My favorite line on the album is probably “some shit you can’t touch,” from “F.U.B.U.” Have any five words in a song served as a more succinct rebuke to appropriation, white-splaining, the defense of egregious racism in the name of “humor” and the fetishization of black bodies?

But A Seat At The Table isn’t a monomaniacal treatise. “Cranes in the Sky” catalogs hedonism in the pursuit of escaping existential dread. “Scales” is a good old-fashioned sex jam with a turn from Kelela, the underground phenomenon who seems to be plotting world domination through guest appearances, Bruno Mars-style. “Where Do We Go” is a lovers-on-the-run ballad that, like Baths’ “Heart,” quietly suggests the song’s heroes are escaping more than just a weary small-town life.

This is Solange’s third album, not counting 2012’s tantalizing EP True, and easily her best. This is especially remarkable given the stylistic left turn it represents. No two Solange albums sound the same, from the Timbaland/Neptunes trunk-rattle of Solo Star to the soul revivalism of Sol-Angel And The Hadley St. Dreams to the lush, ‘80s-inspired indie-pop of True. This one is all soft, slow-burning funk of the sort the Soulquarians mastered towards the turn of the millennium.

A lot of these songs here seem to end mid-sentence, which is unfortunate; funk songs this rich and languid would be more satisfying if they unspooled to the length they deserved. A Seat At The Table feels a bit like a 78-minute neo-soul opus crammed into 51 minutes. But aside from this — and Lil “racism doesn’t exist” Wayne showing up to rant about being “Mad” about nothing in particular on a song that’s explicitly about black female rage — A Seat Of The Table is pretty much a flawless album, and one of the best of this already fruitful year.

Danny Brown is a rap purist’s nightmare — a skinny jean-wearing, emo-haired “hipster by heart” who listens to Joy Division and professedly made his 2011 breakthrough album XXX “to get really good reviews.” He’s less likely to collaborate with other big-name rappers than whoever the indie darling of the day happens to be, whether it’s druggy goth-trap duo Purity Ring, grime starlet Kelela, or the recently reformed Avalanches, whose brilliant Wildflower from this year features two Brown cameos. That’s not even mentioning his yawp of a voice, which seems to take rap’s recent obsession with cartoons to such an extreme he’s actually become one himself.

He’s also one of indie rap’s most unique stylists and a devilishly talented rapper, as inventive with his shit-talk (“you softer than Flanders’ son,” he tells a rival on “Adderall Admiral”) as his harrowing narratives on drug addiction and life in post-urban decay Detroit. It’s easy to forget that he has been in the game for well over a decade; his earliest recordings date to 2003, and he was even considered for 50 Cent’s label G-Unit before they decided they didn’t like his pants.

There’s also more than enough for Nas-worshipping rappity-rap fans to like about Brown — his realism, his willingness to rap over whatever his producers throw his way, his admittedly fearsome technical skill, his rap-nerd credentials. If you ever wanted to see two genuinely obsessive rap fans geek out for 13 minutes, his interview with Nardwuar the Human Serviette — perhaps the only hip-hop personality with a voice as irritating as Brown’s — is worth a watch.

His upcoming WOW Hall show on Oct. 8 is in support of his fourth studio album Atrocity Exhibition, which dropped Sept. 30 on the vaunted electronic label Warp. If you caught Brown last time he was in town on his Mollied-out Old tour, don’t expect more of the same: Atrocity Exhibition is Brown’s bleakest and most out-there full-length yet, a bad-trip fusion of rap with psychedelia and post-punk. There will still probably be a “Blunt After Blunt” singalong, though.

Opening is Houston rapper Maxo Kream and Detroit’s ZelooperZ of Danny Brown’s Bruiser Brigade, whose exploits are chronicled on the XXX cut of the same name.

Danny Brown plays the WOW Hall Oct. 8, 2016, with Maxo Kream and ZelooperZ. Doors at 8 p.m., show at 9 p.m. $26 advance, $29 door. All ages.

If you’re looking for the funny Danny Brown of “Lie4,” “Adderall Admiral” or “Blunt After Blunt,” you won’t find him on Atrocity Exhibition. The Detroit MC’s fourth album zeroes in on unfiltered ghetto realism and harrowing drug-abuse narratives. Traditionally, Brown albums are split into a “party” half and a “real” half. Not this one: Atrocity Exhibition is a headfirst dive into the abyss.

Brown’s drug narratives have staled somewhat after four albums of self-destruction, and it’s not as shocking as it was on his 2011 breakthrough XXX to hear him rap about guzzling substances and foretelling his own death. But he still finds ways to surprise, as on opener “The Downward Spiral,” in which he raps about seeing ghosts and suddenly yelps “Oh, shit!” as if turning around to see Freddy Krueger standing behind him. Ditto on “Get Hi,” which parodies good-vibe stoner rap to elaborate on Brown’s self-medication (and is that a Julianna Barwick sample?).

But for the most part, he’s better at hood violence narratives, like the quietly devastating “From The Ground” and the shrieking, paranoid “When It Rain.” If “Today” is any indication, Brown is still traumatized by the incident he recounted on Old highlight “Wonderbread” where he was mugged as a child for a loaf of bread (“Cause for a little bit of crumbs, they’ll pop you nigga”). Atrocity Exhibition is bleak stuff, and the only real banger is the deliberate rap-gasm “Really Doe,” which features two of Top Dawg’s three biggest MCs and a show-stealing Earl Sweatshirt.

Punks and indie rockers might recognize the album’s title from a Joy Division song. Brown, a self-proclaimed “hipster by heart,” has always had post-punk in his blood; he cited Joy Division as an influence as far back as XXX, whose “Adderall Admiral” flipped a sample from ‘80s art punks This Heat. That song was produced by Britain’s Paul White, who’s responsible for the bulk of Atrocity Exhibition’s beats. Here, he leads us on a tour through the darker corners of rock, from the bad-trip psych of “Tell Me What I Don’t Know” to the shambling punk of “The Downward Spiral” to the No Wave “Ain’t It Funny.” This is an unusually strong rap-rock fusion.

But unlike with his last album, Old, whose indie-star features and constant molly references felt too much like pandering, the indie-bent Atrocity Exhibition seems to stem purely from Brown’s love of the accoutrements of hipster culture. Atrocity Exhibition is stronger and more consistent than Old, though it doesn’t hit the heights of XXX and is relatively light on the rapper-gobbling bravado of his debut, The Hybrid. Don’t play it at parties — ever — but if you want to feel like you’re seeing ghosts for 45 minutes, it’s hard to go wrong with Atrocity Exhibition.

Catch Danny Brown at the WOW Hall October 8, 2016 with Maxo Kream and ZelooperZ. Doors at 8 p.m., show at 9 p.m. $26 advance, $29 door. All ages (though, for heaven’s sake, please don’t bring your toddler to a Danny Brown show).

When Allison Del Fium first came to University of Oregon from Los Angeles, she wondered if she’d made the right decision.

“I’d always been around musicians, people who knew about the entertainment industry,” the lifelong musician said. “I came to Eugene and was like ‘What do I do?’” 

She soon met fellow student Desmond Harvey, who fell in love with the music industry after a trip to Texas music festival South by Southwest and was working on a club for students hoping to get a leg up in the music biz.

Del Fium is now vice president of public relations for the UO Music Industry Collective, which holds its first meeting on Oct. 6, at 6 p.m. in Lillis 212.

MIC hopes to help students make connections in the music industry by booking guest speakers and posting internship and job opportunities on its website, www.theuomic.com.

MIC has a spate of guest speakers lined up, including December Carson, former manager of Portland indie stars The Decemberists, who will speak at the group’s first meeting.

The club hopes to book guestspeaker musicians in the future and even live performances.

MIC leaders emphasize that the group’s focus is as much on making music industry connections as helping music fans meet fellow students with common interests.

“Coming from a membership perspective, I want people to come to the MIC either knowing they’re gonna get a job opportunity or knowing they’re gonna make friends,” said Membership Vice President Bobby Schenk.

Like Del Fium, Schenk had trouble finding people to share his love of music with when he first came to UO from Colorado Springs, Colorado. After meeting Harvey through Oregon’s campus radio station KWVA and helping others to get the MIC rolling, Schenk says they’re “all buddies” now.

“Harvey brought us together February to start planning this,” said Schenk. “We had all of spring term to hammer out the constitution.”

Harvey graduated before the first meeting, but the group has attracted considerable online interest; 56 people have RSVP’d on the first meeting’s Facebook event page.

MIC hopes to attract not only students interested in the music industry but musicians seeking to promote their own bands, especially in Eugene, a town with a small entertainment industry.

“In a place like L.A., you can have no connections and be a small fish in a big pond,” said Del Fium. “Here you have an opportunity to be a big fish in a small pond.”

But, as MIC president Aidan D’Angelo said, “You don’t have to be a music god to join this club.”

“This isn’t about ‘You’re gonna work at the Grammys if you join this club,’” said D’Angelo. “It’s about getting people together who aspire to those goals.”

If you’re passing through the Campbell Club co-op and see any chocolate milk laying around, you’d be advised not to drink it so as not to incur the wrath of Waldo Przekop.

“If you drink my chocolate milk, I’ll get really mad,” he laughs.

The 23-year-old singer-songwriter, who records as Cigarettes and Milk, originally went by Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk after two of his creature comforts. A quick Google search revealed fellow folkie Rufus Wainwright had already written a song by that name, so now it’s just “Milk.”

It’s a contrast that suits his music. Przekop can pick some awfully sweet melodies out of his guitar, but his songwriting style, self-described as “guttery,” can be uncompromising.

“I scream from somewhere deep,” Przekop says. “I like being sad and I like making other people sad. I like to feel that something I’ve experienced can resonate with someone so strongly they experience it as well.”

Though an adherent of the “Travis picking” acoustic guitar style, pioneered by mid-century coal-miner balladeer Merle Travis, his influences are less rooted in the past than in contemporary indie folk singer-songwriters. He’s not a huge fan of Bob Dylan, for instance, but he does draw influence from latter-day Swedish Dylan acolyte The Tallest Man On Earth.

“You can swear more often [nowadays], you can be darker, it’s okay,” he says, and indeed his mouth is as guttery as anything else about his music. 

He’s currently working on a seven-song album, which is as yet untitled but which he describes as “higher-quality cell phone recording.” It’ll be his second; he released his debut Wilderness Road in 2014, which he’s disavowed for being “too indie-folk.”

Przekop was born in Connecticut and attended Three Rivers Community College in Norwich, Conn. before dropping out after a personal crisis (“a lot happened,” he says, but he won’t go into much detail.) He impulsively flew to Maui, where he mostly slept on beach for six months before becoming disillusioned with the lifestyles of his fellow transients.

“It was a lot of hippies, a lot of crust punks sleeping on the beach,” he recalls. “It kinda started to become depressing because five months later, that’s the same stuff they did.”

After traveling with a friend around the country, he found himself in Eugene, where he’s lived for a year. He applied to the Campbell Club and has lived here since, excepting two months in Connecticut following a family emergency.

His nomadic lifestyle is part of what drew him to folk music in the first place.

“[Folk singers are] usually singing something about the railroad, something about being homeless, something about alcohol, something about drugs,” Przekop says. “A lot of folk is really about traveling and being poor, which is what I’ve always done and been.”

Cigarettes and Milk plays the Boreal Tuesday, Sept. 27., with Justus Proffit, Novacane, and Tijuana Ty & the Damaged Goods. Show at 7 p.m. $5, all ages.

Six seasons in, it’s less worrying that Bob’s Burgers will run out of plots than that it won’t have enough time to realize all its possibilities. While Homer Simpson was already in outer space by the time The Simpsons was in its sixth season, Bob’s has covered an astonishing amount of ground by doing almost nothing to its basic formula. It’s still possible the show will go off the rails (its scattershot fifth season came close), but in the meantime, there are still plenty of places the show can go within its preexisting stylistic boundaries. Here’s what both longtime and new fans should know and expect from season 7, which premieres on FOX on Sunday, Sept. 25.

What longtime fans can expect:

1. More Bob and Linda. Though the show bears the name of the Belcher family patriarch, the parents’ lives haven’t been explored as much as those of their kids. We rarely see them outside the restaurant, and it’d be a treat to see their as-of-yet unseen rituals — Bob buying ingredients for his “burgers of the day,” Linda at her dinner theater or hair salon haunts.
2. More puppy love. Season 6 hinted at new squeezes for all three Belcher kids. Gene reconnected with former nemesis Courtney, Louise and her partner in crime, Regular-Sized Rudy, certainly have chemistry, and Season 6 apogee “Stand By Gene” hinted that Tina’s true love isn’t her crush Jimmy Jr. (a douche, to be fair) but his immature friend Zeke.
3. More customers. As Season 6 ended, a debacle involving superglue and a toilet led to Bob’s restaurant gaining some much-needed publicity. It’s possible this was a one-off gag, but Bob’s tends to be consistent with its timeline, so Bob might be better off next season.
4. Plenty of daffy plot lines. The first episode of the new season is supposedly a Wizard of Oz-style dream involving Louise’s toys, and the episode titles that have been leaked so far sound promising: “Like Gene For Chocolate?” “Mom, Lies, and Videotape?” Can’t wait.
5. Beef between Jimmy Jr. and Gene. OK, I don’t know about this one or even particularly expect it, but “Stand By Gene” hinted that Jimmy Jr. might be jealous of Gene and Zeke’s budding friendship. The show derives much of its humor from exploring how various combinations of characters interact; it’d be interesting to see Gene and Jimmy Jr. at each other’s throats.

Check out our picks for the best episodes of Bob’s Burgers.

What new fans can expect:

1. Tons of puns. One of the show’s most polarizing aspects is its ample use of deliberately terrible puns, which are liable to induce cringes in new viewers. Some of the puns are funny, but like Family Guy’s endless cutscenes, they can approach anti-humor territory.
2. Great, well-developed female characters. The Simpsons’ main cast is technically female-dominated, but it still hasn’t done much with its women in nearly 30 years of syndication. But Linda, Tina, and Louise are just as funny, eccentric, and fleshed-out as their male peers, as are supporting characters like the outrageous Gretchen and the mysterious Marshmallow.
3. Some really gross humor. Bob’s doesn’t shy away from toilet humor and fart jokes, and some of its episodes – many centered on unhygienic Tina – are disgusting almost to a fault. Fans whose stomachs turn at the thought of farts and body odor should stay clear of Bob’s.
4. Great music. Bob’s musical numbers are such a part of its identity they’ve even been covered by indie stars like St. Vincent and The National. Showrunner Loren Bouchard’s been promising a soundtrack album for years, but we haven’t heard much about it in a while.
5. It’s a grower. Much of Bob’s humor comes from from internalizing the characters’ personalities. Getting to know the Belchers is key to appreciating the show’s humor, so it might take a few hours of binge-watching for Bob’s Burgers to really click.