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 Who’s
Back?
By
John Brodeur
Man
Man
Rabbit
Habits (Anti)
On their third full-length, and first for the Anti label,
Philadelphia oddballs Man Man strive to make something resembling
a pop record. This is something the costume-wearing, instrument-swapping,
boundary-pushing live act has never excelled at—their strength
is in creating something of the moment, not a statement for
the ages. But frontman Honus Honus (Ryan Kattner) puts his
best fist forward, snarling through these 13 tracks like Tom
Waits via Isaac Brock; and indeed the band’s attempts to rein
in their idiosyncrasies play out much like those early Modest
Mouse records, where spurts of angry death-disco (opener “Mister
Jung Stuffed,” for instance) clash with loping ballads like
set-closer “Whalebones”—that song borders on actually sounding
pretty, a feat for a band that tends to emphasize the ugly
undercurrents of human nature. With the final stretch of Rabbit
Habits being its strongest—“Whalebones,” preceded by free-jazz/punk
workout “Top Drawer” and eight-minute set piece “Poor Jackie”—the
album succeeds in displaying real growth. I’ll bet five bucks
they hire Van Dyke Parks to orchestrate the next one.
 |
 The
Wedding Present
El
Rey (manifesto)
David Gedge’s voice has aged, or matured, into something mellower,
much sturdier than the surly beast it once was. It seems he’s
learned to actually sing (his instrument used to be more of
a bark than a croon), and he has plenty to sing about on El
Rey, the first Wedding Present record in three years. Perhaps
striving to reconnect with a particularly fruitful creative
period, Gedge and company recorded El Rey over 10 days with
engineer Steve Albini. (Albini was behind the board for Seamonsters,
often considered the best Wedding Present album, 17 years
ago.) Written while Gedge was living in Los Angeles, this
document of all things California (girls, drugs, the ocean)
is a messy, sometimes sophomoric affair—“The Thing I Like
Best About Him is His Girlfriend” proves he still considers
himself cleverer than he actually is—but it also shows that,
after several softer-sounding releases (counting Gedge’s five-year
stint fronting Cinerama), there’s still a lot of fight in
this dog.
|
 Tokyo
Police Club
Elephant
Shell (Saddle Creek)
Canadian act Tokyo Police Club burst out of the gate last
year with a pair of EPs (A Lesson in Crime and the
Smith EP) that totaled 25 minutes and 12 songs between
them. Those quick blasts held all the spastic glory of punk
rock, with an experimental streak that suggested great things
for the young band. After a long wait, the band has returned
with their first full-length (and Saddle Creek debut) Elephant
Shell and while that early promise isn’t exactly squashed,
it feels squandered. They’ve softened the edges that made
those EPs such a hoot, in favor of a more melodic sound beholden
to the Cure and Death Cab for Cutie (think of Hot Hot Heat’s
later records). And, while it’s nice to hear the band develop
(don’t get me wrong; there’s some excellent indie-pop here,
“Tessellate” in particular), it would be nicer to hear them
come off their meds and get crazy for a few songs. Why keep
it in your pants on the second date after putting out on the
first?
 White
Lion
Return
of the Pride (Airline)
. . . and lo, Mike Tramp did decree, “Behold, as I shall write
another ‘When the Children Cry.’ ” But lo, he could not, for
the muck and mire that he did conjure echoed drably through
the hollowed hull of his once formidable fighting unit, now
rotted out by years of despondence and inactivity. Even Lord
Van Hagar sneered in disapproval, for his mighty shield, tarnished
and made laughable by a long and misunderstood public life
marked by pomposity and delusions of grandeur, had little
before been worn with such disgrace. Tramp and his men set
forth for the state fairgrounds with little hurrah; a most
triumphant return, sadly, this would not be.
 The
Raveonettes
Lust
Lust Lust (Vice)
To call Lust Lust Lust a return to form would be to
mislabel it—their last disc, 2005’s Pretty in Black,
was a very good record from a band that has yet to make a
bad one. The Raveonettes haven’t gone back to the all-songs-in-one-key
schtick, but they do delve back into the din of their early
recordings, and it’s a journey well worth taking. The Danish
duo is traditionally morbid here (tracks include “Dead Sound”,
“The Beat Dies,” “Sad Transmission,” and “Expelled from Love”),
and their collision of Jesus and Mary Chain-style feedback-drones
and “Leader of the Pack” girl-group production has never sounded
better. They experiment with loops, noise, and unyielding
darkness; album opener “Aly, Walk With Me,” with its ominous
single-note guitar riff, finger cymbals, and abrasive, straight-to-the-board
overdrive, is almost a challenge to listen to (at five minutes,
it’s also their longest recorded track to date). This is the
space-out record of the summer (sorry, Spiritualized), but
be careful with the headphones—Lust Lust Lust could
literally blow your mind.
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