Ween

It’s a damn shame that Ween is one of the only bands out there willing to really sweat it out and serve up a show so long that even a fan can barely stand it. Aaron Freeman and Mickey Melchiondo — Gene and Dean Ween to their fans — are, if nothing else, devoted to turning their Steely Dan-meets-They Might Be Giants material into a lasting canon by giving them the warrior treatment live, making like geeky Springsteens with marathon shows.

Steering through a 34-song set, the Weens earned predictably wild approval for “Piss Up a Rope” and “Waving My Dick,” songs that have made them a favorite band of folks such as Limp Bizkit. But a band that writes little songs, even little songs with big hooks, such as “Stroker Ace,” needs to assert some control instead of just unleashing as many ditties as it can afford to dole out.

The songs Ween shared from its new White Pepper disc were, like the album, less tattered and amusing than its back catalog, something that dulled its edge and bored the crowd. A band that hates to be pigeonholed as a novelty, Ween still managed to push its show in the comedy direction. Freeman added mandolin to “Fat Lenny,” and drummer Claude felt his bass pedal snap out from under him during the encore, causing him to dispose of his sticks and bare-hand it. But for a band that thrives on drunken spontaneity, Ween delivered a mostly cartoonish version of what might have been an inspired bit of pop theater at another venue.

It’s also a damn shame that the rumored flyby from the Flaming Lips didn’t occur Friday. That band’s set in Lawrence this spring was reportedly evangelical in its persuasive power, and putting it in front of an outdoor weekend crowd would have been a fascinating experiment. Kind of like Ween, which needs to go back to the lab.