Dead Man's Party

Hey Zoo Freaks, it's your fog-shrouded Zoo Crew whispering in from the lantern-lit labyrinths of THE ZOO, where the leaves are rustling like secrets and the veil's wearing thin as spider silk. We're crashing Oingo Boingo's "Dead Man's Party" from that shadowy soiree of an album, and whew, does it summon the spirits with a ska-punk swing that'll have your toes tapping in the twilight. Danny Elfman spilled in a Consequence chat that this toe-tapper sprang from his little girl Lola's wild imagination—she'd dream up these ghoul galas where the dearly departed danced the night away, and Danny thought, why not turn that kiddie nightmare into a new wave wake? "It was her idea of a perfect bash," he grinned, layering in those manic horns and that chant-along chorus like a mad hatter's hymn. Picture the '85 video: Danny's got the raccoon eyes and a straitjacket strut, leading a zombie conga line through fog machines and funhouse mirrors, all while the band horns in like uninvited ghouls. Fans on X are still toasting it this Samhain, one post crowing about a backyard bash where "the neighbors thought we'd raised the dead for real," another clipping the Rodney Dangerfield flick where the Boingo boys crash a frat ragin' with the tune, Thornton Melon hollering for more amid the confetti corpses. And get this: in '15, Danny swore off the stage dust, but the Hollywood Bowl pulled him back for a Nightmare Before Christmas gig, where he dusted off "Dead Man's Party" with an orchestra swell—his first Boingo bow in two decades, quipping later, "The ghosts wouldn't let me say no." It's not just a track, Zoo Freaks—it's an invitation to the eternal bash, where the punch is spiked with ectoplasm and the dance floor's eternal.

Now let's wander back to the sun-bleached sidewalks of '70s L.A. where a pair of brothers brewed this bohemian brew, 'cause Oingo Boingo didn't sprout from some garage jam—they clambered out of a surrealist circus tent pitched by Richard Elfman in '72. Richard, that wild-eyed filmmaker, rounded up a ragtag revue called The Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo—name nicked from an old Amos 'n' Andy gag about a secret sea society—for street-corner spectacles blending Cab Calloway covers with Balinese bangs and homemade contraptions that'd make Rube Goldberg blush. Up to 15 souls strong, tooting over 30 oddball instruments, they'd invade parks and alleys with vaudeville vamps and Russian ballet riffs, winning hearts and a Gong Show gong in '76. Enter Danny, Richard's globe-trotting sib—born '53 in L.A., he'd backpacked through France and Africa on a shoestring, dodging malaria and soaking up highlife horns and reggae ripples till hepatitis hounded him home. Richard drafted him as musical ringmaster in '74, trombone in one hand and violin in the other, and by '76 Danny's commandeering the chaos, penning originals that twisted the troupe's theatrical tango into something sharper. Fast-forward to '79: the knights kneel, Danny pares it to an octet—himself on screech and strings, Steve Bartek on axe wizardry, horns from Sluggo, Leon, and Dale blasting like brass banshees—and reboots as straight-up Oingo Boingo, spiking ska revival fire from the Specials and Madness with punk's electric edge and XTC's quirky quiver. IRS inks 'em for a raw EP, MCA swoops for full lengths like Only a Lad, and soon they're storming SoCal bashes with enough energy to wake the pyramids. From sidewalk skits to silver screen scores—Danny'd pivot to Burton's gothic grins by '85—these boingo boys proved a brother's folly could forge a frenzy that echoes eternal.

If the party's pullin' you under, Zoo Freaks, shuffle over to the spectral Dan's Boingo Page for a fan-forged vault of lyrics, lore, and lost clips that'll hook your haunt. No official band haunts these days—Danny's off scoring symphonies—but rally the revelers on Facebook's Oingo Boingo Fans group, a 10k-strong salon swapping bootlegs and bash tales. Peek the poltergeist pix on Fanpop's Oingo Boingo club, or join the Not So Secret Society of Oingo Boingo for midnight musings and meme magic. For live echoes, catch the Oingo Boingo Former Members crew—Vatos, Sluggo, and kin—swinging the standards sans Danny, or sign up at Dead Man's Party Society for gig whispers and grave discounts. Stoke the bonfire, don the disguise, and let's gatecrash the gloom till the roosters revolt, my twilight troubadours.