ALBUM OF THE YEAR
MJ LENDERMAN
MANNING FIREWORKS
FILED UNDER: ALBUM REVIEWS
By Meredith Mattlin
It’s tempting to call MJ Lenderman’s music “divorced dad rock.” With Bob Dylan references built into grim lines like “How many roads must a man walk down ‘til he learns / He’s just a jerk who flirts with the clergy nurse ‘til it burns,” it’s easy to see why. Between its sad-sack characters and classic rock references, Lenderman’s latest album, Manning Fireworks, asserts a wisdom and humor well beyond the years of its 25-year-old writer. But there’s a universal appeal to Lenderman’s latest album that pushes it well past its more obvious listeners. Lenderman’s southern-twanged, warbling odes to drinking and loneliness (and Apple watches and breakups outside of McDonald’s) permeate well beyond the confines of the alt-country world they inhabit.
Manning Fireworks feels a bit like a musical analog to King of the Hill—there’s something quintessentially American about it, slice-of-life vignettes with some endearingly pathetic characters popping up between jokes about alcoholism. Combined with addictive melodies and instrumentation that oscillates between head-banging-heavy and surgically delicate, the album has earned its spot as an instant classic. And if you find it funny to imagine a deleted Cars scene where Lightning McQueen is in DUI territory (listen to “Rudolph”), you’ll find home in an MJ Lenderman song.
MJ Lenderman performs “You Are Every Girl To Me” at a sold-out show at Music Hall of Williamsburg Oct. 27, 2024. (credit: Meredith Mattlin)
Lenderman is ridiculously skilled at enmeshing obscure references into irreverent self-owns. Rather than being disorienting, the juxtaposition always somehow flows flawlessly. On the second track, “Joker Lips,” he captures that all-too-familiar feeling of being desperate to be heard but horrified to find yourself admitting it: “Please don't laugh, only half of what I said was a joke / Every Catholic knows he could've been pope.” Who hasn’t felt their cheeks flush when someone takes their honest plea as facetious—wait, what the hell, did he just quote The Gospel Singer by Harry Crews?
Then, of course, there’s some serious storytelling. Lenderman has found a rock bottom equal parts bleak and romantic, and seized it with a depth that betrays its slapstick, rubber-chicken exterior. On “Rip Torn,” the whine of a slow fiddle follows some comically bleak opening lines: “I guess I’ll call you Rip Torn, the way you got tore up / Passed out in your Lucky Charms, lucky doesn’t mean much.” Somehow we’re halfway deep in the Men in Black universe, but then we’re shitfaced and messing up again, with “You need to drink some water, it'll kill the need to puke / You need to learn how to behave in groups.” On the titular first track, another longing loser is “sneakin’ back stage to hound the girls in the circus” while a familiar fiddle drones in and the world moves on.
credit: Will Crooks, Garden & Gun
While some may see Manning Fireworks as the slow sunset on an otherwise “Brat summer,” I’d argue they go hand in hand. The mundane always has something worth crooning about—whether it’s Charli XCX’s “Jesus Christ on a plastic sign” or Lenderman’s “half-mast McDonald’s flag.” Clearly, a large part of the charm of Manning Fireworks is its lyricism, which gives Warren Zevon a run for his money: relatable without being generic, littered with metaphor and references so niche that they’d be jarring if they weren’t woven in so seamlessly. Another part is its self-aware goofiness. “I’ve got a houseboat docked at the Himbo Dome” from “Wristwatch” will stick in your head for months. It’s irresistibly absurd. Lines like “I could really use your two cents babe / I could really use the change” make you wonder if he stumbled on purpose just to write about hitting the ground.
On the production front, Manning Fireworks is a mature departure from Lenderman’s previous work. I’m no mixing and mastering wonk, but even the greenest of ears can hear that this album is smoother than both his 2022 Boat Songs and his 2019 self-titled record, which were both blanketed by a DIY, lo-fi feel. The warmth and fuzz felt appropriate for his earlier outputs, but the crispness on Manning Fireworks allows each of the (many) instruments to really shine—the expected guitar/drums/bass are accompanied by drone, slide, organ, fiddle, upright bass, and more. Among the symphony, there are some highlights: Xandy Chelmis, also of the alt-rock band Wednesday, maintains the album’s southern flair with pedal steel; “Joker Lips” credits producer Alex Farrar on mellotron; Shane McCord performs clarinet on “You Don’t Know The Shape I’m In.” No one is too cool for heartbreak, and no one is too cool for clarinet.
On top of it all is Lenderman’s voice, which sits front and center, no fuss or ornamentation needed. On six tracks he’s joined by his Wednesday collaborator and ex-partner Karly Harzman, who rounds out the album with some welcomed harmonies—the outro to “She’s Leaving You” is a personal favorite. Without the haze that mellowed out his previous records, the clean tones and crisp contours are almost confrontational, like a much-needed intervention.
The album closes with the boldly-named “Bark at the Moon,” the last six minutes of which are a meditative instrumental closeout, welcoming you to wallow. Lenderman approaches darkness and ennui with a formidable vulnerability. It’s hard to pull off self-consciousness without garnering eye-rolls, but he avoids the trap by doing it all without a hint of pretentiousness. Right after the self-pitying lines “I took off on a bender / You took off on a jet” we’re howling to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon” on Guitar Hero (who cares about your stupid jet anyway). “I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa / I’ve never really left my room,” he sings. A shrug heard ‘round the world.
Despite it all, though, there’s something hopeful about Lenderman’s music. “She’s Leaving You” has a surprisingly upbeat tone at odds with its subject matter. It’s the standout of the album, just positively addictive. The music video for the song is a charmingly underwhelming high school talent show. It’s funny, it’s dark, and like the other eight tracks—and Lenderman’s earnest-but-absurdist persona—it’s a wealth of paradox. With lyrics like “You said, Vegas is beautiful at night / And it’s not about the money, you just like the lights,” it’s easy to see why he frequently draws comparisons to Neil Young and Jason Molina. But on Manning Fireworks, it’s undeniable that MJ Lenderman has created something that’s wholly his own.