MJ Lenderman may not be a household name, but he is well-acquainted with success — the release of his 2022 album “Boat Songs” and the 2023 release of “Rat Saw God” alongside his country-shoegaze band, Wednesday, have granted him a touring schedule that hasn’t let up in years.
On paper, “Manning Fireworks” doesn’t necessarily spell out maturation. Lead single “Rudolph” imagines the red-nosed reindeer getting in a car accident with Lightning McQueen of “Cars,” before pivoting to quote Bob Dylan, combining lowbrow references and highbrow prose that collectively establishes the album’s themes of heartbreak. “I wouldn’t be in the seminary if I could be with you,” Lenderman sings in “Rudolph, turning an off-hand line of yearning into the song’s central focus, and a principal theme of his new album.
In “Bark At The Moon,” Lenderman claims he hasn’t really left his bedroom despite his busy schedule, instead seeking comfort in learning Ozzy Osbourne songs on Guitar Hero. The song confesses to putting up a front, with a vulnerable closing line about his inability to adjust to change. Deep down, he’d give up his pop culture references and video games if he had to: “Yeah, you know I love my TV / But all I really wanna see, is see you need me,” Lenderman remorsefully sings in “Joker Lips,” an uneventful song that still manages to rise to a muted, stirring conclusion.
For Lenderman, the rubble of pop culture has always been a source of inspiration. Much has been written about the guitarist’s penchant for taking hazy details from music, sports and TV and inserting them into his songs. His previous work has referred to everyone from Michael Jordan to Freddie Stroma. These indicators don’t mean much on their own, but when paired with country-rock textures that hearken back to the lyricism of The Band or Warren Zevon, Lenderman’s poignant and funny referential songwriting has always felt like a balm to the drowsy, underwritten indie of the present.
The hook of “She’s Leaving You,” a tale of a post-divorce bender recounted in the second person, wistfully stings with “It falls apart / We all got work to do.” Built off a wandering, ascending five-note classic guitar riff, the band’s shaggy-dog groove is effortlessly infectious music. The song reflects on gambling in Las Vegas, renting a Ferrari and getting really into Eric Clapton to paint a picture of a brutally pathetic man.
Figures of thwarted masculinity are Lenderman’s bread and butter. He’s looking into the gross attitudes of someone spending too much time listening to Joe Rogan or thinking about what goes into being a so-called alpha male. The narrator of “Wristwatch,” a nasty, splendid song, dodges criticisms before listing off pitiful signifiers of wealth, like an Apple Watch, a beach house and a “houseboat docked at the Himbo Dome,” one of the funniest instances of evocative nonsense on the record. In “Rip Torn,” Lenderman admonishes someone who “need[s] to learn / how to behave in groups,” pinpointing the millisecond when a goofy, drunk friend turns belligerent. Even at their most sympathetic, Lenderman’s characters have some growing up to do.
Lenderman’s talent for conjuring familiar, miserable characters, acute images and funny ironies has grown stronger with the release of “Manning Fireworks.” The nucleus of the album, however, is his earnest confrontations with the slow conclusion of a relationship. Under plucked acoustic guitars, pedal steel and a brushed snare drum, “You Don’t Know The Shape I’m In” admits that “sometimes we just drift apart” with a downcast uncertainty that suggests he wanted to stay together. He centers this heartbreak on the closer, “Bark At The Moon,” where a flowerbed of fuzzy, harmonized guitars back Lenderman up as he puts things frankly: “You’re in on my bit, you’re sick of the schtick / Well, what did you expect.” The laidback sway of the drums and interlocked guitars drive home his lovesick blues, before dissolving into several minutes of feedback at the end of the song and reflecting the dissolution of the relationship.
“Manning Fireworks” lives and dies on its thick, textured sound, a swirl of turn-of-the-century alt-country like Drive-By Truckers or the sharpest singer-songwriters of the ’70s. Quick solos shoot through electric numbers like “On My Knees” and “Wristwatch,” interjecting small instrumental hooks into songs with already great choruses. Those snarling sonics are complemented by featured artist Karly Hartzman’s hushed harmonies on a handful of tunes, while hints of clarinet, piano and fiddle poke through on “Rip Torn” and “Manning Fireworks.”
Lenderman continues to come into his own as a chronicler of awkward breakups, pathetic men and rare glimpses where he lets his guard down.
Contact Ethan Beck at [email protected].