Man Man “Six Demon Bag” Ace Fu
Records “Six Demon Bag,” the second release by
psycho-group Man Man, has a sound that can probably be best
understood by imagining a really, really old car. The music moves
forward in a broadly coherent direction but reaches its destination
only after crashing slipshod through potholes and dealing with an
overworked suspension as well as its own mechanical instabilities.
This isn’t to say Man Man has given us a musical jalopy. The
group’s work ““ and this recording in particular ““
benefits from the intricate ways in which its deliberately loosely
fastened parts constructively interfere with each other, and the
way the jarring paint-change from chassis to hood can redirect the
song to a new destination. Exploiting opposing instrumental,
stylistic and timbral ideas, the group has created something fresh
enough to demand multiple listens, even if it might initially
escape comprehension. The instrumental components of each
composition sound at once self-absorbed and united behind a common
goal of conflict between each other. On “Push the
Eagle’s Stomach,” a distorted bass insists that we pay
attention to its three-note phrase (even if just to notice it and
find it annoying), while what sounds like a throat-singer who just
inhaled some helium screams incoherent curses and
pitch-uninterested drums yell back for all the rest to shut up.
“Spider Cider” is driven by music that would make sense
in a biker bar. Fortunately Man Man adds its characteristically
steel-toned trumpets to the mix, holding notes that pull the bar
groove out into emotion and then abruptly place it back into
boot-kicking. After all that, gravel voices moan over Shostakovich
strings, and vocal counterpoint is added bit by bit over a
chromatic piano playing one-note heavy metal and a disconnected
hip-hop drumbeat. “Ice Dogs,” probably the best cut on
the album, opens with a vindictive blues line that crashes ““
in its lopsided way ““ into something like Van Morrison from
the underworld. The first statement resolved, the song shifts to
doo-wop, complete with its sycophantic backup singers and Honus
Honus’ lead vocal sandpaper soaring above. As the song
closes, blaring horns tickle flutes into responsive laughter, at
once patronizing and thankful. Man Man is also overtly serious at
times, providing a grounding for its unstable moments.
“Tunneling Through the Guy” makes use of a perpetually
moving marimba and spaced-out, full band crashes that sound
something like uncomfortable afternoon clouds floating by. Just at
the point where things start to feel a bit self-important, the
music stops and a chorus of “la la la la, la, la, la,”
comes in, followed by some of the most fabulously atonal guitar on
the album. After this full band apoplexy, the seriousness comes
back, completely valid in its new context. The components sound
audacious individually, and some of the collective music, when
given only a cursory glance, evades seriousness. But Man
Man’s work is not always about the notes the piano is
playing, or the artfulness of chord progressions, nor is it about
aesthetic congruence. What makes this album interesting is its
seemingly haphazard ““ yet unquestionably authored ““
layering of styles, forms, timbres and emotions. And in doing so,
Man Man captures the intricacy, discomfort and reality of how life
often feels.
“”mdash; Alex LaRue