Life & Wisdom Quote by Neil Innes

The comedy here is in how casually Neil Innes turns a potential crisis of musical professionalism into a shrug-worthy personality quirk: the drummer gets bored, stands up, blows kisses. It’s an image that instantly demystifies the rock-band machine. Rhythm, the supposedly sacred engine of the song, is at the mercy of human attention span and the performer’s itch to be liked.

Innes’s intent feels twofold: to recount a practical problem (if the drummer won’t anchor the beat, someone has to) and to puncture the mythology that bands are streamlined units of purpose. The line “sort of” does a lot of work, softening the critique into anecdote, as if this is all perfectly reasonable behavior in the absurd workplace that is a touring act. “By then” hints at evolution or slippage, the way roles drift over time: Larry isn’t just a drummer; he has become a drummer-as-frontman, seduced by the audience feedback loop.

The subtext is about control. A drummer who abandons the kit to perform affection is choosing charisma over craft, spectacle over structure. Innes doesn’t moralize; he reframes the solution: elevate the bass from support to locomotive. “Drive along” is wonderfully unglamorous language, like talking about keeping a vehicle from stalling. It captures a musician’s pragmatism and a humorist’s eye for the ridiculous: even the most flirtatious band needs someone to keep the wheels turning.

Contextually, it reads like the behind-the-scenes logic of comedy-music worlds Innes inhabited, where showmanship and sabotage are neighbors, and the straight-faced workaround is the punchline.