:: Record Review

Man Man

Rabbit Habits
(Anti-; 2008)

Rating: 61%

Fact: live Man Man is ultimate Man Man. It is Man Man in his (his) element, bathing in thin streams of fetal glow leaking through dust-caked filters and flanked on both sides by trash heaps (to the untrained eye) of kitchen-cabinet paraphernalia and dollar store children’s crap—a veritable playpen for five dudes to stitch together junkyard ballads with the objects their parents had forbidden years prior on account of being “too loud” or “too dangerous.” At Man Man shows, everything —everything— is a percussion instrument (spoons, metal bowls, cap guns, the other dudes’ shins) and nothing—nothing—is played how it “should” be (two saxophones in one gaping mouth, piano chords pounded out with Honus Honus’s impish Donkey Kong leaps and descents). In a way, one could call the band’s on-stage proclivity to swapping instruments and vocal duties egalitarian, except that to apply any “rule” to what happens at a Man Man show would demonstrate, at best, more than a little naivety or, at worst, utter ignorance of the anarchic nature of the spectacle.

Fact: studio Man Man is not ultimate Man Man. It is Man Man shuffling to produce honest-to-God songs that impress in their own right sans the war paint and cap guns and doodads (at which they’ve succeeded on several occasions)—and do so without losing the unpredictability of their live performances (at which they’ve consistently failed). The band’s debut, The Man in a Blue Turban with a Face (2004), boasted mostly good-to-great songwriting that, magnified by a just-right recording fidelity that captured the clang and clutter of their live sound without coming off as overly murky or lo-fi, managed to transcend the group’s kitsch-riddled antics (still served in healthy portions). Turban was an excellent record; its predecessor, Six Demon Bag (2006), fell somewhere between “good” and “mediocre.” That record was an overzealous stab at merging live Man Man (more man-YAWPs and nasal EEEs!!!) with studio Man Man (cranking up the vocals = more song-y) that, despite occasional flashes of brilliance (“Black Mission Goggles,” “Van Helsing Boombox”), sounded far more contrived and annoying than the debut.

So, Rabbit Habits is studio Man Man not really giving a shit about live Man Man. This is a pop record. One could say it’s Man Man’s first true pop record, insofar as its (too) clean production and steady beats and strong melodic backbone are concerned. But is that a good thing? Sure, it’s nice not having to claw through anything as annoying as “Young Einstein on the Beach” or “Push the Eagle’s Stomach,” but I can’t imagine what the group hopes to achieve by making their sound more user-friendly. For a group whose past musical touchstones have been diverse enough to conjure the now-obligatory comparisons to (always) Beefheart, Waits, and Zappa (as well as inspire the despicable “Gypsy-pop” tag), Rabbit Habits is an incredibly predictable and fairly homogeneous product sitting next to Turban or Bag.

Now, I’m not talking about the trying-too-hard-to-surprise-it’s-not-surprising predictability of Six Demon Bag, which Dom has already explicated. No, this is good ol’ fashioned predictability, perhaps best illustrated by the flaccid rhythms on Habits. Whereas Man Man’s first two albums (especially Turban) often relied more on drum fills than backbeat—banged out with serendipitous precision— Habits is stuffed to its ears with the same boring, thick bass lines paired with primitive backbeats. Granted, if straightforward pop songs are what they seek, tightening up the rhythm section is absolutely essential, though here they’ve overstepped the line between “tightening” and “dumbing down completely.” “Hurley/Burly” and “Harpoon Fever (Queequeg’s Playhouse)” are nearly percussively indistinguishable, and “Big Trouble” and “Top Drawer” follow the same thump-thwack stomp that’s old hat for a mid-tempo Man Man jam.

This all bears mentioning because the genius of some of the band’s best songs (see “10 lb. Mustache”) as well as their live show (see first paragraph) is due in large measure to the inventive percussion that’s completely missing on Habits. To make matters worse, the rest of the instruments have become inextricably locked into the boring framework created by that damn backbeat. Note: the birthday party noisemakers on “Hurley Burley” are too neatly organized to be, well, noisy, and the horns on “Big Trouble” are way too polished to sound half as drunk as they want to.

You couldn’t be blamed for turning this album off around, say, “El Azteca,” though if you did you’d be missing out, because album closers “Poor Jackie” and “Whalebones” are easily better than any of the preceding 11 tracks. They ain’t “10 lb. Mustache”-good, to be sure, but both songs—each wandering past the seven-minute mark—hit with the same wrenching sincerity that made the Turban highlight so great. The second half of “Poor Jackie” is particularly redolent of early Man Man as its sea of rising horns buoys Honus Honus’s pathetic yelps before fading into a pool of quivering squelches. It’s telling that this, the album’s finest moment, is also its loosest and, perhaps, least “pop.” That this band still knows how to let it all hang out is at least a pinhead-sized beacon of hope that the next album will feature more such moments. Though, to be safe, I’d recommend buying those concert tickets now.