Dig My Grave: The Furious Opening of Apollo 18
How They Might Be Giants set the stage for one of the greatest musical albums ever made.
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The Final Duo Album: A Culmination of a Two-Man Era
This was the last They Might Be Giants studio album recorded as just John Flansburgh and John Linnell. After Apollo 18, they expanded into a full live band for studio recordings. I firmly believe that years of touring, recording, and performing as a duo culminated in this perfect duo-album masterpiece.
Over the next 18 weeks, I’ll be sharing my thoughts, memories, and connections to each track. The end result will be some sort of puzzle-piece tapestry, revealing why Apollo 18 is my favorite album of all time.
Getting Heavy (or at least fuzzy)
“Dig my grave!” the lyrics shout through a fuzz pedal and crunchy guitars.
“Every time you call my name, I see St. Peter wave—DIG MY GRAVE!”
John Flansburgh’s distorted vocals match the grinding electric guitar, setting a ferocious tone. Whoever the song’s narrator is addressing might just be the death of him. Maybe it’s a toxic relationship, maybe they simply don’t mix well—but every interaction feels like he’s digging his own grave.
Hearing this track for the first time felt like something that didn’t sound like anything TMBG had done before. As far as I was concerned, They Might Be Giants had just delivered a bona fide heavy metal track.
Dark, mysterious, edgy—this was the coolest possible way to open this album.
A Song That Keeps Being Reborn
The phrase Dig My Grave has a long musical history.
Flansburgh once pointed out that many old Folkways recordings include versions of songs with similar titles—Dig My Grave, Diggin’ My Own Grave, My Own Grave. He noted that these folk songs would transform as they traveled: “They had a New Orleans version of ‘DigMy Grave’ and a Maine folksong version of it and all these various versions.”
His take on Dig My Grave is a completely modern reinvention of that folk song tradition. The name remains, but the song itself is entirely new. And I never skip it. Get ready to hear me say that a lot over the next 18 weeks. Apollo 18 is a no-skip album.
I mean, COME ON, right?!
A Reckless Memory: 25-Mile Creek Resort
While this song wasn’t playing at the time of the event I’m about to describe, my brain has permanently linked them together.
There’s a camping site nestled along Lake Chelan in Washington called 25-Mile Creek Resort. The last time I was there, a forest fire forced an emergency evacuation in the middle of the night. But this story is about my first time camping there.
My best friend and I arrived in a camper trailer, listening to They Might Be Giants and flipping through the Weekly World News we’d picked up at a gas station. You’d never believe this, but there was a boy who was also part bat. Huge story.
When we pulled into the campground, we saw a sign that read:
“Please Observe Park Rules: Enjoy Your Stay!”
No curfews, no “Quiet Hours,” no warnings about feeding wildlife. Just one rule—enjoy your stay.
Very “Do what thou wilt” vibes.
That night, we decided to take our bikes to the top of the steep, winding hill leading into the campsite.
We tapped the sign to acknowledge our commitment to the park’s one rule and launched ourselves down the hill at top speed. No helmets. No warning for oncoming cars. Just a complete teenage-invincibility-complex-driven decision.
We screamed the whole way down. Not just from excitement, but from the real fear that we were about to arrive in an early grave.
When my friend’s mom found out what we did, she was less than enthusiastic. Some older college kids, on the other hand, were impressed enough to invite us to their boat the next day.
The Hidden Truth: There Were Many Rules
On our last day, the whole family hiked around the park and ended up back at the entrance sign.
This time, we noticed something we had missed before: a weather-protected plastic container just below the Enjoy Your Stay! message. Inside? A phone-book-thick volume titled Park Rules.
Turns out, there were ordinances, boat launch policies, and, most importantly—explicitly stated bike safety rules.
Helmets required.
No riding bikes on the paved winding road leading into the campground.
This did not help our case against my friend’s mom.
A year later, we actually followed the rules. But that time, Mother Nature tried to wipe us out anyway—because the forest fire that forced us to evacuate burned the entire campground to the ground.
A Perfectly Brief, Utterly Powerful Opener
“Dig My Grave” is only a minute and eight seconds long, but that’s almost too much power to fit into one song. The pounding drums, roaring guitars, string ensemble samples, and Flansburgh’s distorted vocals—it’s a controlled explosion.
Hearing it now floods my memory with that time spent at 25-Mile Creek Resort. The reckless energy. The thrill of near-disaster. The realization, too late, that there were actually rules we were supposed to follow.
It’s a song that kicks off Apollo 18 with raw intensity. A warning, maybe. Or an invitation—buckle up, this album is going to be a ride.
What Are Your Apollo 18 Memories?
Did Dig My Grave catch you off guard the first time you heard it? Have you ever had a near-disastrous-but-thrilling experience that a song always brings back?
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