Man Man

I wonder how often people go to gigs without being familiar with the players. It’s a rare occurrence for me, and it proved to be the damning spot for both Yeasayer and Man Man (pictured).

Tucked into the heart of Cosby family-territory Brooklyn, the Masonic Temple is not a traditional New York venue. Looking more like the setting for a retirement banquet than a rock show, it took a few pinches and a whole lot of beers to remember why I was even there. With the gentrification of Manhattan, quite a bit of New York culture is creeping to the outer boroughs. Jelly NYC, the promotion company responsible for summertime ‘pool parties’ with TV on the Radio, Les Savy Fav and Blonde Redhead in McCarren Park, Brooklyn, have a knack for throwing fringe-approved parties, and this was no different. A Friday night in New York and you’ve got Michael from Stellastarr* manning the kegs (no joke) and a room full of dime-store dressers and industry punters alike.

Personally, I felt it was my duty to attend in an attempt to understand the surging interest in both Yeasayer and tonight’s headliners, Man Man. But, as stated earlier, I wasn’t particularly familiar with either’s work. I’d done the requisite MySpace listen, but it wasn’t enough. When you watch a band like Yeasayer without said familiarity, nothing sticks. Perhaps it was the distraction of the lightshow (damn hippies) or the abundance of pale ale, but everything sounded the same. One long drone of (perhaps?) well-crafted stoner jams. It really begs the question: would anyone give a shit about this band if it wasn’t from Brooklyn? Frankly, I doubt it. In my humble opinion, Yeasayer is lucky that the UK has grown bored of its own homegrown talents and is now eager for the US cycle to begin cranking out buzz bands again (see: 2001).

Same can be said for Man Man. I’ve seen these guys a few more times than the aforementioned ‘sayer, but have yet to be swayed. The first time I heard them play was at SXSW a couple of years ago when they were given the dubious task of playing a Vice party, mid-afternoon, directly prior to Mystery Jets. I love Mystery Jets, and in that setting, Man Man came off as a sub-par (American) version of the former. In fairness, familiarity was probably at play in that instance as well. I imagine that someone hearing Mystery Jets without knowing their songs wouldn’t be particularly impressed either. That said, this night at the Masonic Temple did nothing to convince me of Man Man’s buzzworthiness. I felt like I was in a mental institution and the guys onstage were members of the extracurricular house band.

For starters, the band had dictated a pre-show playlist of hits only from 1983. Audience patience and devotion was tested with repeat spins of ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ (which nearly started a riot, I shit you not). After play number five (yes, five lengths of Bobby McFerrin), the band took the stage dressed all in white and bashed out what seemed like a fan-pleasing set. Unfortunately for them, I am not a fan, and so I leave you with this – just because a band is kitschy and American does not mean they are worthy of your time. Bands like Clap Your Hands… and Tapes N’ Tapes have trodden this same path of internet-induced buzz, and ultimately, if you can’t hum a bar of their tunes post-show, what’s the point?