Somewhere between pop-punk guitars, childhood imagination and a flat tire outside Nashville lies the wonderfully weird world of Bert Badger.
Somewhere outside Nashville, Bert Badger was stranded on the side of the road...
It seemed like an appropriate setting for a conversation with a children's entertainer whose creative universe contains talking food, soggy socks, pillow fights, punk rock, flying children, questionable songwriting experiments and a persistent belief that grown-ups could probably stand to have more fun.
Bert recently moved to Nashville from Los Angeles. It was there that he began developing his career as a children's musician after becoming a father. Before that, there was San Francisco, where he performed improv and sketch comedy. Before that, there was the beginning of his musical life in 2006, experimenting with rap and other forms of music.
Somewhere along the way, all those things became Bert Badger. And Bert Badger is considerably more than a children's musician. He's building a world.
From Improv to Pop Punk
Bert's comedy background is important because his music doesn't feel like somebody simply decided to write songs for children. There's a strong sense of character running through everything he does. He understands the fundamental comedic principle that something becomes much funnier when you commit completely to it.
That might mean writing a song about an avocado. Or soggy socks. Or a pillow fight. Or, in the case of his newest album, deciding that classic pop punk would make a perfect vehicle for children's music.
Pop Punk Kids is Bert's fifth album, and it's deliberately different from what came before it. He's always wanted to make a pop-punk record, and this time he finally did.
Much of the musical heavy lifting came from Jon Paul Kauffman, formerly of Lansing, Michigan's Boink. Bert would sing his ideas, and Kauffman would build the music around them, bringing the vocabulary of classic pop punk into Bert's peculiar universe. The result contains the expected ingredients: driving drums, chunky guitars, halftime sections, walls of harmonies and gang-style vocals. But instead of songs about teenage rebellion, heartbreak and questionable decisions, Bert uses that musical machinery to explore childhood emotions and everyday adventures.
It's a surprisingly natural fit. Pop punk has always been good at making enormous emotional mountains out of relatively small hills. That's exactly how childhood works. A bad day can feel like the end of the world. A Ferris wheel can be the greatest thing you've ever seen. Flying would obviously solve almost every problem.
Which brings us to “I Want Wings.”
The Logic of Childhood
There's a particular kind of honesty in a child saying, “I want wings.” Not metaphorical wings. Not inspirational wings.
Actual wings.
Bert's song embraces that wonderfully literal childhood logic. Why wouldn't you want wings? You could fly wherever you wanted. You could look at the sky and simply decide to go there.
Adults tend to spend a lot of time explaining why things can't happen. Children are much more interested in what would happen if they did. That distinction runs throughout Bert's work.
His songs aren't afraid of silliness, but the silliness isn't empty. Beneath the jokes is a consistent appreciation for curiosity, empathy, activity and imagination. Even “Down in the Dumps,” one of the more emotionally grounded songs on Pop Punk Kids, understands something important about childhood: sometimes you feel terrible and don't necessarily know why.
The song doesn't tell the listener to cheer up. Instead, it eventually arrives at the reassuring idea that being sad and being angry are okay. That's a surprisingly sophisticated message hiding inside a goofy pop-punk song.
The Serious Side of Silly
Bert's song “ADHD” takes that idea even further. The song describes the frustration of feeling different, struggling to concentrate and being unable to shut out the noise in your own head. It's a serious subject, but Bert doesn't approach it with the solemnity of an educational pamphlet. That's part of his strength.
He understands that children don't divide the world into “serious subjects” and “fun subjects” quite as neatly as adults do. You can be worried about something and still want to jump around. You can be sad and still laugh. You can be learning something important while eating something shaped like a dinosaur. And Bert's world makes room for all of it.
The Food Problem
There is, however, one recurring issue in the Bert Badger universe: food.
Bert laughs about the fact that his previous album contained so many food songs that interviewers started pointing it out. The criticism landed: “Lots of food songs, huh?”
With Pop Punk Kids, Bert deliberately shifted toward adventure. Although food remains part of the larger Bert Badger mythology, he's trying to expand the universe. And when you consider the possibilities available to a children's songwriter, that's probably a wise decision. After all, there are only so many meals to sing about. Adventure is considerably harder to exhaust.
The S'mores Song That Just Won't Work
There is another Bert Badger tradition that may be even more revealing: the elusive s'mores song. Bert has been trying to write one for years. The concept seems perfect on paper: Chocolate. Marshmallows. Graham crackers. Campfires. Childhood memories. What could possibly go wrong? Apparently, everything.
Bert describes the process of having what seems like a great idea, recording the song and then playing it for his son, only to receive the devastating parental equivalent of a one-star review: “What is this?!”
The s'mores song remains elusive, but perhaps that's part of the charm. In a creative world where everything can be turned into a song, not every song deserves to exist. Sometimes the best thing you can do is admit that the s'mores song isn't working and move on.
A Built-In Audience of One
Bert's son Lincoln, now ten, is also one of his most important creative collaborators — whether he realizes it or not. He's an advanced soccer player, but he's also something else every children's musician needs: a brutally honest test audience.
Bert runs his music past him. If the kid likes it, that's a good sign. If he doesn't? Well, there's always another song.
That feedback loop helps explain why Bert's music feels aimed at actual children rather than an abstract idea of what children might enjoy.
Leggo My Ego
Bert's comedy background also informs how he thinks about collaboration. When we talked about the difficulty of putting together a full band, the conversation eventually turned toward one of the oldest problems in music: ego. Bert's answer? “Leggo my ego,” an appropriately Badger response.
His years in improv and sketch comedy taught him that groups don't work very well when everybody is fighting to be the most important person in the room. In his experience, the people with uncontrollable egos tend to be the first ones to go. That philosophy carried over into the making of Pop Punk Kids.
Bert and Jon Paul Kauffman spent three years working on the album, and Bert describes the experience as one without fights — essentially, two people trying to make something fun. You can hear that attitude throughout the album.
The World Gets Bigger
But Bert isn't finished. Another children's album is already completed--he's just spacing out the releases rather than putting two albums out too close together. And then there's Knights of the Nerd Table, a grown-up album currently in development. Naturally, it sounds completely insane.
The project revolves around obscure old cartoons, comic-book and television characters, fan fiction and the sort of pop-culture detritus that gets lodged permanently in the brains of people who grew up watching too much television. Even Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget may be involved. And at some point, a demon gets fought. That is about as much information as one probably needs.
Meanwhile, back in the children's universe, Bert is looking to build a live band in Nashville. His shows have traditionally used backing tracks rather than a full band, but he's ready to take the next step. And the live experience is where the whole Bert Badger philosophy really comes together.
His shows aren't designed for children to sit quietly in a chair while somebody sings at them. They're interactive, physical and funny — family events where parents can grab a drink, kids can run around, and everyone can participate. And if the opportunity arises, Bert will happily bring the whole thing to a house party.
A Flat Tire and a New Beginning
When Bert called me, he wasn't sitting comfortably in a Nashville studio or relaxing at home between gigs. He was about 90 minutes outside Nashville, stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire. Somehow, that seemed like an appropriate setting for a conversation about a guy whose creative universe is built around embracing whatever weirdness life throws at you.
We talked about music, comedy, ego, children's entertainment, failed s'mores songs and his plans for the future while Bert waited for his roadside predicament to be sorted out. By the end of the conversation, the flat tire had become less of an inconvenience and more of a fitting footnote to the whole experience.
There's something appropriate about that picture. Bert Badger isn't presenting childhood as a perfectly tidy world where everything goes according to plan. Sometimes you're having a terrible day. Sometimes you can't concentrate. Sometimes your s'mores song is terrible.
And sometimes you're just sitting on the side of the highway waiting for help. The trick, apparently, is to keep having fun despite it all.
Welcome to the Badgerverse
Perhaps the easiest mistake would be to assume Bert Badger is simply a guy who makes funny songs for children. There's considerably more going on: the comedian who learned how to read a room, the musician who spent years wanting to make a pop-punk record, the father with a built-in ten-year-old focus group, the songwriter who keeps trying — and failing — to write a good s'mores song, and the performer who wants kids moving rather than sitting still.
And there's the adult who thinks having wings would be pretty damn useful.
And there's the creative mind that can move effortlessly from ADHD to fireworks to punk rock to Dr. Claw fighting a demon. Put all of those things together and you get Bert Badger.
It's a strange place — colorful, loud, occasionally covered in marshmallow, and full of the kind of ridiculous imagination that makes childhood so much fun. And somewhere inside it, there's probably a kid having the time of their life.
Just don't ask Bert to write another song about s'mores.