Two years ago, Man Man's Man in a Blue Turban With a Face was a
shock to the system, its mad, headlong rush through gypsy violin waltzes
and mad caberet laments, past percussion breaks that might be Liquid
Liquid-y were they not barked out like dogs, and over vertiginous xylophone
solos utterly different from everything else on offer. The band's
excellent second album provides much of the same level of excitement, of
difference, of inventiveness, yet it is studded with intervals of desolate
sadness.
The band has been slightly reconfigured since its debut album, bringing on
Chris Powell (ex of Need New Body) to replace the band's old drummer, and
adding Lez Mizzle and Sergei Sogay to play multiple instruments. The
change in percussionists is significant in a band that puts the trap set in
front, both literally and figuratively; however, Powell seems entirely
comfortable with Man Man's ramshackle, rhythm-driven sound. The Middle
Eastern-flavored shuffle of "Banana Ghost," for instance, benefits from his
staccato, light-handed touch, while "Black Mission Goggles" has the same
frenetic energy as older songs like "Zebra."
The bigger change is in the recording quality, which is substantially
cleaner than on the first record. Perhaps it's clearer recording that makes
the dark side more apparent, for where Man in a Blue Turban's lyrics
were buried, Six Demon Bag brings them to the front. For every
"English Bwudd," with its raucous, riotous swagger, and Jack in the
Beanstalk's "Fee fi fo fum" chorus, there is a mournful "Feathers"
observing a dissatisfied loved one slipping away. For every gleefully
absurd "Young Einstein on the Beach" or Superfly-falsetto'd "Push the
Eagle's Stomach," there is a rueful "Skin Tension," lamenting "I know I'll
never be the man that she thinks she really needs/ But it don't stop me from
trying to be."
The best songs pit Man Man's maniacal party sound against the downbeat
lyrics, building a tension between what you understand and what you
feel. For example, "Van Helsing Boombox," has an old-fashioned jauntiness,
a kind of music-hall feeling really, that's reinforced by alternating
piano chords and wordless "la la" vocals. Yet this dapper exterior hides
some of the darkest language on the CD. "When anything that's everything
means nothing/ That's everything/ And nothing is the only thing/ That you ever
seem to have," goes the chorus, about as nihilist a set of lines as pop
music can contain. And that's the single. No wonder that, one track later
with "Tunneling Through the Guy," Man Man are advising us all to "Crawl back
in the cave... crawl back in the cave." It's a scary, sad world out there,
so crank up the drums and let's party.
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