I’ve just gotten back from seeing Man Man perform in San Diego. I don’t remember another time I came out of a concert literally speechless. Though it probably doesn’t need to be said, if Man Man has a tour date even remotely close, this is a band that needs to be experienced. The problem is, as Rhea pointed out when I gushed about the show, I’ve made numerous best-show-ever-aphorisms numerous times. Clearly, how can anyone believe me if I lazily resort to that kind of hyperbole for every third concert I go to these days (though, in my defense, I am more than a bit more selective when it comes to which shows I’m willing to pay for these days; the three concert a week schedule my roommate and I somehow maintained for close to two years probably did a good job of desensitization)? I’m going to try and break down how this show was different – if such a tame word can even apply to the Man Man experience. Radiohead, the Walkmen, Animal Collective, and even wee Jon B. are all artists I’ve seen numerous times (six or more each) and have been fully invigorated each time – though Jon, admittedly has had his fair share of off nights. Man Man is frighteningly energetic in a way that is not at all going to given proper justice anywhere on this blog. Five musicians more talented than they have any right to be display true “group psychosis” as my friend’s roommate commented, on stage at every moment of their breakneck set. From hardcore to New Orleans jazz to doo-wop to pirate shanties, Man Man tackles everything at any given moment. Wait, I don’t know if that’s clear; Man Man plays all of said genres in a song all the time.

To put it another way, it was understandable when my friend explained that there was “no way” that his girlfriend would ever come to a Man Man show. The sheer amount of testosterone-driven terror and carnivalesque debauchery in the yelling, screaming, and lounge crooning that took place just ain’t a dignified, suitable place for yer ol’ lady. It was understandable that the guy standing next to me was caught in a frenetic, robotic dance for the entire show. It was understandable when the saxophone playing William Vollmann look-alike felt the compulsive need to hit himself in the head with a free cymbal (I immediately thought of this guy at approximately 3:40 in the video). It was understandable when said Vollmann look-alike felt it necessary to repeatedly karate chop himself in the neck as a means of attaining a certain vocal effect. The drummer and main singer (named Honus Honus) leaping in the air at the same time? Understandable. The percussionist violently striking his xylophone with a string of bells? Understandable. Band members needing to scream hysterically at random moments in the show? So completely understandable. That the Epicentre in San Diego felt like it was at half its capacity for the evening’s performance? Inexplicable.

I realize this rambling post has done nothing in capturing the band’s performance, so go forth and see when you can. If that isn’t feasible, both of their albums are swell, with last year’s Six Demon Bag being utterly divine. It also looks like Man Man’s working on their next album, though I don’t know if I’m ready to be prescribed another dose of meaty insanity quite yet.
.

.

.

.

Er… in unrelated news I need to eventually speak up on the awesomeness that is the second episod of the This American Life television series. I also want to extrapolate and talk myself through my thoughts on Daye’s bogglingly great documentary footage, but should probably make sure it’s ok with her first. Daye?