Mannequin Men "Fresh Rot" (Flameshovel)
Douchebag that I am, I finally got around to the 3/13/2006 New Yorker over the weekend, and I was struck by this paragraph, which Peter Schjeldahl wrote about Edvard Munch:
No other great artist—and only a rare writer, short of Proust—has made so absolute a principle of truthful memory. (A perceptive German critic, in 1902, characterized Munch as “a Romantic who cannot lie.”) Second, I’m struck by the note of discovered joy in artmaking, never mind the direness of the subject, that may be typical of budding artists but would serve this one to an extreme degree, as an emotional tightrope over the abysses of a life that was otherwise pretty thoroughly awful.
Mannequin Men frontman K. Richard could only wish that such a thing would be written about him, but to be fair, the motherfucker seems to be pretty authentic. The word "swagger" appears often in reference to his stage presence, and I like to think that most swagger -- rock 'n' roll or otherwise -- is based on an element of truth, or at least an unflappable case of self-delusion. (See: "religion.") Anyway, Richard may not be the second coming of Iggy, but I buy his dirtbag persona, and that's gotta count for something.
It's all there on 2007's unfairly ignored Fresh Rot -- his scornful whine ("Mattress"), his wild-eyed sexuality ("Private School"), his detached bitchiness ("Pattern Factory"), and even a little loud empathy ("Dead Kids"). The point is not that he's damaged or weary; it's that garage-rock (particularly the clangy Wire kind) is his conduit to clarity. For instance, when he says, "I won't walk how you want me to walk/And I won't talk how you want me to talk" on the snotty "Boys (They Don't Mind)," his tone lays out two distinct ramifications: He might entertain you, but he might annoy the shit out of you, too. It's an acceptable risk, if you care about swagger.
Mannequin Men play D.C. on June 18, Baltimore on June 19 and Philly on June 20.
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