Brendan B. Brown still sounds faintly amazed when you ask him about the staying power of “Teenage Dirtbag.” Twenty-five years after Wheatus released their self-titled debut album, the misfit anthem is not only alive but thriving, fuelled by the viral TikTok trend of celebrities posting teenage photos of themselves, surprise covers, and a new wave of young fans who treat the track like a cultural heirloom. Speaking ahead of the band’s January 2026 Australian tour, Brown reflects on the strange longevity of the song, the stories that shaped it, and the growing tribe of what he fondly calls the “Nouveau Dirtbags.”
“It feels like a bit of a dream, to be honest,” he says. “I had this as a daydream when I was 10. Watching Angus Young on TV thinking: I want to do that. So every time the song resurfaces, I’m reminded of that kid with a huge ambition and absolutely no idea how to get there.” He laughs. “You know you want something, but you have no concept of what the road looks like. And even now, there’s something vague about it. Not vague in a boring way. Vague in a mysterious, exciting way.”
Wheatus began in 1995 in Northport, New York, centred on Brown’s songwriting, with his brother Peter on drums and Rich Liegey on bass. In 2000, “Teenage Dirtbag” exploded, topping Australian charts and reaching No. 2 in the UK. Their debut album also produced a hit cover of Erasure’s “A Little Respect.” After conflict with their label, the band went independent in 2004, re-issuing their second album as Suck Fony. Since then, they’ve toured relentlessly, released several records, and cultivated a cult following that is loyal, loud and surprisingly multi-generational.
Brown says he no longer bothers trying to understand why “Teenage Dirtbag” keeps returning. “I don’t try very hard to understand it because it’s not something I’m in control of,” he says. “Once you release a song, it belongs to everybody else. Whatever your intentions were, it doesn’t matter. What matters is what it becomes in other people’s lives.”
That approach has led to moments that feel downright extraterrestrial. “The cover SZA did, the one Phoebe Bridgers did, Chris Carrabba, One Direction… it feels like Roswell,” he laughs. “Metal bands, pop stars, folk singers, R&B artists. We just marvel at it. The only rule is: don’t manage it. Let it happen.”
The Australian shows promise the same loose-limbed chaos Wheatus fans love. “We don’t do setlists at headline shows and haven’t for decades,” Brown says. “The crowd calls them out. I’ll walk around before the show asking: what do you want first? Second? We read the room and build the night for that specific audience.” It means Brown has to know almost everything by heart. “People go deep. I’ve been caught once in a blue moon, but I try to remember it on the spot. I don’t do reinterpretation. I just try to get it right. I made it, so I should be able to.”
This tour brings the full eight-piece band back to Australia. “We know about 60 songs like the back of our hand. All the first record, all the second, most of the third, a lot of the fourth and fifth, half the sixth, plus B-sides and covers. It adds up pretty fast.”
When the conversation drifts to the romantic wounds that seem to colour the early Wheatus albums, Brown is quick to demystify. “Honestly, I didn’t have that many relationships,” he says. “I was a late, late, late bloomer. A lot of those early songs were conversations with friends who were in their first cohabitations or first marriages. I was hearing it all from the field.” Much of the bite came instead from the industry. “There was a more emo version of the first record at one point. All that sass came from being salty about a record deal I got screwed out of. It wasn’t heartbreak. It was frustration.”
Australia, however, seems to spark something different in him, especially when he talks about the country’s peculiar tradition of choosing a “Noelle” at local gigs. In pubs across the country, cover bands routinely pull the prettiest girl in the room onstage to sing the Noelle part. This writer was chosen once or twice back in the day, and it felt pretty damn good! Brown bursts out laughing. “That’s awesome. The Prom Queen tradition lives on. That’s such a specific evolution unique to Down Under. We’ll call it the Vegemite Prom.” A pause. “Actually… the Lamington Queen.”
Brown’s own teenage years weren’t nearly as cinematic. “I went to a boys’ school. I watched high school out the window of a moving train,” he says. “I’d watch John Hughes movies thinking: he’s almost got it. But real life was a bit lonelier and a bit more violent being at a boys’ school.”
That leads naturally to the lyric at the heart of “Teenage Dirtbag”: “Her boyfriend’s a dick, he brings a gun to school.” Today the line carries the weight of America’s gun-violence epidemic, but Brown says its original context was different. “There were kids who brought guns to school just to look cool,” he says. “It wasn’t brave or heroic. It was insecure posturing. Stupid and scary, but it happened.”
He connects it to the modern gun-rights contradiction. “People want to carry guns to prevent shootings, but once the bullets start flying, it’s too late. This idea that you can control chaos is complete bunk. It’s not a movie. It’s sadistic chaos.”
He goes further. “The Second Amendment was meant to arm rural farmers against the British. You can’t defend yourself from a drone strike, so the argument collapses. Other countries got it right from the start, but we aren’t close to fixing it. There are so many other important, inconvenient amendments like the right to the pursuit of happiness… that’s basically the right to live.”
Even in these darker reflections, Brown’s stories spiral back to gratitude. The now-iconic Iron Maiden reference was inspired by the Satanic Panic that swept his area after a ritualistic killing made headlines. Parents were outraged about heavy metal, especially Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast”. Brown remembers Bruce Dickinson being astonishingly kind, championing Wheatus early on, riding his bike to Abbey Road to record vocals for “Wannabe Gangster” and even inviting him to Christmas dinner. “He’s a legit Renaissance man. A fencer, a pilot. One of the most insightful people I’ve ever met.”
Not all inspirations were so grand. BMX Bandits came straight from the cult Aussie film starring Nicole Kidman. “I saw that movie as a kid and thought it was so cool the girl was riding a bike. I was like: when are we getting married?” he laughs. His own BMX love endures despite a crash at 33 snapping his collarbone. “I broke it like a twig. A bunch of teenagers cutting class helped me up.” I point out the irony of being helped by rule-breaking teenagers wagging school. Brown laughs loudly, “You’re right! I didn’t think of it that way! Who knows how long I would have been there if they hadn’t come along. Nouveau dirtbags in the woods, skipping school and rescuing people!”
And yes, there’s even a Christmas version of “Teenage Dirtbag,” a Love Actually– style annual tradition the band leans into wholeheartedly. “We started doing it for fun, just to see if it could work,” he says. “I tried to write it and couldn’t see it. My parter Gabrielle (Sterbenz – song writer) came back in 24 hours with the whole song and she was like “The word “Noel” is in the first line!” I don’t know how I missed that!”
Looking back, Brown seems content to let “Teenage Dirtbag” continue its bizarre, beautiful journey. “It’s not mine anymore,” he says, smiling. “It never really was.”
Catch the Wheatus 25th Anniversary tour in Australia in January 2026.
Thu 15 Jan 2026 – Crowbar – Brisbane, QLD
Fri 16 Jan 2026 – UC Hub – Canberra, ACT
Sat 17 Jan 2026 – King St Bandroom – Newcastle, NSW
Mon 19 Jan 2026 – Blazes Showroom – Tamworth, NSW
Tue 20 Jan 2026 – Manning Bar – Sydney, NSW
Thu 22 Jan 2026 – 170 Russell – Melbourne, VIC
Fri 23 Jan 2026 – Wrest Point – Hobart, TAS
Sat 24 Jan 2026 – Freo Social – Fremantle, WA
Grab your tickets HERE.
Images supplied by artist.
