Live, Man Man is something like a 6-year-old carny’s conception of the perfect band. Adorned in war paint and surrounded by eerie swap-meet knickknacks, the band plays its swampy, mutant doo-wop with devilish glee.
Band members pass around instruments mid-song, each abusing the instrument in wild spectacle: One plays two saxophones at once with mouth agape, others furiously blow into discordant kazoos and melodicas, and at a song’s breakdown, they’ll all grab pots and pans and bang them just like momma told you not to.
Leading this percussive drive is Honus Honus (né Ryan Kattner), the mustachioed maniac who, when not banging on his upright piano, coordinates impish jumps into the air with the adjacent drummer or dances around the stage as if possessed by a lost voodoo spirit. Since 2004, Man Man has quickly earned its status as a must-see live band, but despite previously delivering two solid albums in the process, it has largely failed to recreate its wonderfully feral live experience.
“Rabbit Habits,” the follow-up to 2006’s occasionally brilliant “Six Demon Bag,” was conceived as Man Man’s “pop album,” a designation that is largely accurate if slightly misleading. The refined studio production and more structured songwriting on “Habits” hints at accessibility, but it’s still a far cry to call Man Man’s gypsy rave-ups “pop.” Really, this is the album where Man Man recognizes the futility of recreating the violence of its live shows and focuses its sound into something that can stand on its own merit.
“Habits” is also the album where Honus unleashes the unhinged wantonness that his perfectly arched moustache always hinted at. For all its carnival freak show appeal, “Six Demon Bag” was a surprisingly affectionate break-up album ““ albeit one where Honus displayed a nearly pathological possessiveness over his lost love ““ punctuated by two of Man’s best songs “Skin Tension” and “Van Helsing Boombox,” wherein Honus pined with crushingly bruised sentiment, crying “I want to sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet / even though I know it won’t work out in the long run.” Here, however, Honus moves on from his lovelorn melancholy and adopts a greasy lover-boy persona over the majority of “Habits'” 13 tracks.
When Honus starts off “Habits” opener “Mister Jung Stuffed” with the refrain “I’ve been locked down way too long” amidst an eruptive, distorted organ and unrestrained percussion, it’s no secret what’s keeping him down ““ his sexual drive is palpable.
“Top Drawer” retells the familiar story of “The Graduate,” with Honus recast as the carnally libidinous Benjamin Braddock. He lays out his multigenerational lust plainly, telling the Mrs. Robinson figure, “People claim I’m possessed by the devil, but momma, I know I’m possessed by your daughter,” while still luring her in with salacious come-ons, such as, “You wonder where the true love went, ’cause the breeder in your bed don’t butter your bread.”
Still, Honus’ fixations would be for naught if the band didn’t craft expert arrangements to accompany his lyrical turns. Man Man smoothed out the rough edges of its aesthetic, allowing each organ pulse, xylophone run and horn-fare to provide the hooks that have always been buried beneath the wall of sound that dominated its first two albums.
The relative aural clarity also allows Man Man to explore new techniques in song-craft. “Harpoon Fever (Queequeg’s Playhouse)” alternates between guy-girl playground chants over a single piano note and incessant bongs, interrupted by passages of Honus’ mangled bark until a dizzying organ riff unravels the whole song, providing one of “Habits”’ most fun, infectious moments without relying on Man Man’s typical build-up and release progression.
Despite “Habits'” pop impulses, this is still the band that named its debut album “The Man in a Blue Turban with a Face” ““ don’t expect Honus to croon to images of multi-colored iPods anytime soon. The deliberate weirdness of Man Man is often its greatest strength, as on “Poor Jackie,” the epic doo-wop tale of a fugitive femme fatale with “a moustache tattooed over her lip” to evade detectives on her case.
The ultimate success of “Rabbit Habits” is Man Man’s ability to merge its brutish impulses with turns towards accessibility. It’s hardly easy listening, but it is robust and vital and should satiate any fan until Honus and crew bring their gypsy train through town again.
““ Ross Rinehart
E-mail Rinehart at rrinehart@media.ucla.edu.