What's In A Name?

I was listening to the radio and heard an announcement for an upcoming local show by a band called Medieval Knievel. This got me to thinking about band names in general. I'm sure that before they're done, this group will face their share of litigation, especially if they were to end up with a million selling single, but being an aspiring band on the move keeps their exposure limited. I felt the same way about the group The Dead Hensons. Their repertoire, Muppet songs from Sesame Street and other compositions for felt, keeps them in a tidy little niche. One can only assume that the Henson estate has little or no affection for their homage, but their minimal audience keeps them from becoming victims of the trademark curse.
Getting a band name that really works is tough on a good day, and if you seek to offend, like the Hensons' predecessors the Dead Kennedys, you're likely to stir up interest in the same motion. This was especially true of punk bands from the late seventies and early eighties, many of whom probably couldn't get their records played on the radio primarily because they couldn't say the band's name on the radio.
Then there's Steely Dan. Naming your band after a pleasure device from "Naked Lunch" makes it even more likely that your lyrics will be similarly obscure, like "Bodhisattva - I'm gonna sell my house in town". I'm sure William S. Burroughs wished he could have penned that one as well.
Finally, there is this little confession: Back in college, as most underclassmen do eventually, I made a list of possible band names for my run to the top of the pops, or at least to middle obscurity. My favorite stuck with me long enough that I decided to use it as the title of my blog. "Entropical Paradise": it's got a good beat, and you can dance to it. I give it a seventy-four.