Tenacious D On Ice: How One Onstage Joke Shook Jack Black and Kyle Gass

Max Sterling, 1/22/2026Tenacious D faces a cultural reckoning after a controversial onstage joke by Kyle Gass sparks outrage online, leading to a tour cancellation. Amidst regret and reflection, Jack Black and Gass explore the complexities of their partnership, hinting at a possible comeback in the future.

Sydney in July—summer in the States, winter Down Under, and the world teetering between headlines. Onstage, Gass, ever the sidekick-turned-foilhound, was presented with a birthday cake amid the raucous “Spicy Meatball Tour.” The audience—primed for some time-tested D shenanigans—leaned forward, expecting perhaps a slapstick gag. But instead, Gass delivered what can only be described as a nuclear-hot misfire: “Don’t miss Trump next time.” A jaw-dropper, even by the D’s topsy-turvy standards.

It’d be nice to chalk it up to the fog of performance, some unscripted slip destined for the backstage blooper reel. Only that’s not how things roll in the digital age. A quip like that—politically toxic, caught on camera mere hours after a presidential assassination attempt—was fuel for an internet inferno. Headlines blared, comment sections erupted, and suddenly the duo was no longer just juggling punchlines, but a full-fledged cultural reckoning.

The aftermath felt less like rock ‘n’ roll chaos and more like an exodus. Jack Black, who juggles franchises with the calm of a circus ringleader, wasted no time drawing a line. “I would never condone hate speech or encourage political violence in any form,” he stated, swiftly cancelling the tour and dousing the flames with the only cold water available: time apart. Tenacious D was on ice—a peculiar silence for a band that’s rarely stood still. Some fans, perhaps thinking back to all those times the duo tightrope-walked the edge of good taste, reeled at the abruptness. Yet even the most anarchic teams have a breaking point.

Regret stuck to Gass like a second skin. Interviewing with Rolling Stone months later—2025 still thunderclouded with online outrage—he sounded, if not broken, certainly battered. “Terrible judgment, obviously. It just kept getting worse and worse,” Gass admitted, dissecting the experience with a candor that cut deeper than any viral apology. He’d owned up almost instantly, yanking down his apologies from social media as the backlash kept escalating: “Highly inappropriate, dangerous and a terrible mistake.” But in an age when virtual outrage has a half-life longer than plutonium, remorse didn’t really stand a chance.

Black, for his part, wasn’t casting stones; just protecting a hard-won legacy. Blindsided, he said. Creatively tapped out, plans paused. “I love the D and everybody takes a break sometime,” Black remarked later—an oddly tender line, considering the media storm. Perhaps there’s a lesson there about artistic partnerships: when one side steps on a landmine, the fallout rarely sticks neatly in one corner.

Throughout it all, what landed hardest wasn’t the spectacle, but the wry, unvarnished honesty that seeped through the aftermath. “It’s like a marriage. You go through ups and downs and try to understand your partner.” Gass’s metaphor wasn’t just apt; it felt uncommonly mature for a rock duo whose brand is chaos in a minor key. No tantrums, no tabloid sniping—just mutual understanding across a suddenly choppy sea.

It wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention that this wasn’t a case of scorched-earth blame. “We’re on different career paths; I totally understood what he needed to protect,” Gass reflected, both wistful and matter-of-fact about Black’s retreat. Even as he spoke of the “long ride home,” there was a whiff of stoic acceptance—a figure trudging through the third act of a musical, in desperate search of a key change.

More to the point, the scandal didn’t just prod at the boundaries of what counts as comedy in 2024 (or, now, 2025). It spotlighted the razor’s edge artists walk in an era where jokes can mutate—from midnight riff to instant infamy—in the span of a livestream. Gass summed it up with a shrug that’s echoed down the ages: “I was naive that the backlash would be so strong.” One gets the sense that every comic—past, present, and probably future—has whispered some variation of that line during a rough night.

Yet, unlike those groups whose breakups get milked for decades of behind-the-music schadenfreude, Tenacious D never devolved into finger-pointing for the tabloids. They hashed things out, far from the noise. Maybe that’s the real unreleased track here: an ode to sticking together, quietly, when all the world wants is a juicy feud.

So, will they return? In true D fashion, both have dangled cryptic hope. “We will serve no D-wine before it’s D-time—but we will be back. We will return,” Gass offered—equal parts wink and war cry. Black tipped his own hand, steadfast in his affection for the partnership, if not the precise timeline. Showbiz has never had much patience for restraint, but, as any crowd knows, nothing stokes anticipation like the lights waiting to go back up.

To say that the stage is less forgiving in this era feels like an understatement. The wires spark hotter now, and even the jesters are asked to thread needles so fine they’d make a tailor squint. Still, the prospect of Tenacious D roaring back—older, chastened, maybe even a shade wiser—has a certain mythic appeal. If anything endures in the age of instant cancellation and relentless scroll, perhaps it’s the hope that weird, wonderful music (and the complicated, combustible partnerships behind it) can find their way through yet another act.

And honestly—if there’s going to be a comeback scored to a guitar solo and a devil-may-care smirk, the world could probably use it.

Crack open the annals of rock—and there, invariably, you’ll find Tenacious D: that unlikely musical Frankenstein stitched together from equal parts wild theater and bare-chested bravado. Jack Black and Kyle Gass have always worn their odd-couple dynamic with a kind of bulletproof exuberance, vaulting from cult stages to the pop-culture stratosphere while trading jokes sharp enough to draw blood. So, when 2024 decided to throw a plot twist their way, even the most seasoned D-devotee couldn’t have seen it playing out quite like this.Sydney in July—summer in the States, winter Down Under, and the world teetering between headlines. Onstage, Gass, ever the sidekick-turned-foilhound, was presented with a birthday cake amid the raucous “Spicy Meatball Tour.” The audience—primed for some time-tested D shenanigans—leaned forward, expecting perhaps a slapstick gag. But instead, Gass delivered what can only be described as a nuclear-hot misfire: “Don’t miss Trump next time.” A jaw-dropper, even by the D’s topsy-turvy standards.It’d be nice to chalk it up to the fog of performance, some unscripted slip destined for the backstage blooper reel. Only that’s not how things roll in the digital age. A quip like that—politically toxic, caught on camera mere hours after a presidential assassination attempt—was fuel for an internet inferno. Headlines blared, comment sections erupted, and suddenly the duo was no longer just juggling punchlines, but a full-fledged cultural reckoning.The aftermath felt less like rock ‘n’ roll chaos and more like an exodus. Jack Black, who juggles franchises with the calm of a circus ringleader, wasted no time drawing a line. “I would never condone hate speech or encourage political violence in any form,” he stated, swiftly cancelling the tour and dousing the flames with the only cold water available: time apart. Tenacious D was on ice—a peculiar silence for a band that’s rarely stood still. Some fans, perhaps thinking back to all those times the duo tightrope-walked the edge of good taste, reeled at the abruptness. Yet even the most anarchic teams have a breaking point.Regret stuck to Gass like a second skin. Interviewing with Rolling Stone months later—2025 still thunderclouded with online outrage—he sounded, if not broken, certainly battered. “Terrible judgment, obviously. It just kept getting worse and worse,” Gass admitted, dissecting the experience with a candor that cut deeper than any viral apology. He’d owned up almost instantly, yanking down his apologies from social media as the backlash kept escalating: “Highly inappropriate, dangerous and a terrible mistake.” But in an age when virtual outrage has a half-life longer than plutonium, remorse didn’t really stand a chance.Black, for his part, wasn’t casting stones; just protecting a hard-won legacy. Blindsided, he said. Creatively tapped out, plans paused. “I love the D and everybody takes a break sometime,” Black remarked later—an oddly tender line, considering the media storm. Perhaps there’s a lesson there about artistic partnerships: when one side steps on a landmine, the fallout rarely sticks neatly in one corner.Throughout it all, what landed hardest wasn’t the spectacle, but the wry, unvarnished honesty that seeped through the aftermath. “It’s like a marriage. You go through ups and downs and try to understand your partner.” Gass’s metaphor wasn’t just apt; it felt uncommonly mature for a rock duo whose brand is chaos in a minor key. No tantrums, no tabloid sniping—just mutual understanding across a suddenly choppy sea.It wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention that this wasn’t a case of scorched-earth blame. “We’re on different career paths; I totally understood what he needed to protect,” Gass reflected, both wistful and matter-of-fact about Black’s retreat. Even as he spoke of the “long ride home,” there was a whiff of stoic acceptance—a figure trudging through the third act of a musical, in desperate search of a key change.More to the point, the scandal didn’t just prod at the boundaries of what counts as comedy in 2024 (or, now, 2025). It spotlighted the razor’s edge artists walk in an era where jokes can mutate—from midnight riff to instant infamy—in the span of a livestream. Gass summed it up with a shrug that’s echoed down the ages: “I was naive that the backlash would be so strong.” One gets the sense that every comic—past, present, and probably future—has whispered some variation of that line during a rough night.Yet, unlike those groups whose breakups get milked for decades of behind-the-music schadenfreude, Tenacious D never devolved into finger-pointing for the tabloids. They hashed things out, far from the noise. Maybe that’s the real unreleased track here: an ode to sticking together, quietly, when all the world wants is a juicy feud.So, will they return? In true D fashion, both have dangled cryptic hope. “We will serve no D-wine before it’s D-time—but we will be back. We will return,” Gass offered—equal parts wink and war cry. Black tipped his own hand, steadfast in his affection for the partnership, if not the precise timeline. Showbiz has never had much patience for restraint, but, as any crowd knows, nothing stokes anticipation like the lights waiting to go back up.To say that the stage is less forgiving in this era feels like an understatement. The wires spark hotter now, and even the jesters are asked to thread needles so fine they’d make a tailor squint. Still, the prospect of Tenacious D roaring back—older, chastened, maybe even a shade wiser—has a certain mythic appeal. If anything endures in the age of instant cancellation and relentless scroll, perhaps it’s the hope that weird, wonderful music (and the complicated, combustible partnerships behind it) can find their way through yet another act.And honestly—if there’s going to be a comeback scored to a guitar solo and a devil-may-care smirk, the world could probably use it.