REVIEW: MJ Lenderman – Manning Fireworks

While I’m new to MJ Lenderman, Manning Fireworks immediately makes it clear why he’s been building such a name for himself. Across the whole, pretty short, album, we’re dealing with simple sounding songs that are beautifully executed, with words that mark their writer out as one of the best lyricists around. Lenderman’s storytelling style is full of wry humour and wit, as well as plenty of moments that make you think and might tempt a tear to your eye – lines such as ‘one of these days you’ll kill a man/for asking a question you don’t understand’ and ‘he was once was a baby/and now a jerk’ in the opening title song, immediately demonstrate the unique mind we’ll be spending the next twenty minutes or so alongside.

‘Joker Lips’ continues the impressive wordsmithery, with lines like ‘Please don’t laugh, only half of what I said was a joke/Every Catholic knows he could have been pope’ really standing out. But it is the pretty but straightforward guitar line that makes this song a highlight. As if the Bob Dylan influences weren’t already clear enough, Lenderman references them with the line ‘how many roads must a man walk down ‘til he learns’ on ‘Rudolph’, but in many ways this song is one of the furthest from that style – crunching guitars give it some of the only loud moments on the LP.

‘Wristwatch’ is another standout song, opening with the classic lines of ‘So you say I’ve got a funny face/It makes me money/So you say I’ve wasted my life away/Well/I got a beach home up in Buffalo/And a wristwatch that’s a compass and a cell phone/And a wristwatch that tells me you’re all alone.’ These brilliantly acerbic, almost brutal lines also bring Dylan to mind, particularly the song ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ – only this has been updated for the 2020s. And that, in many ways, sums up MJ Lenderman’s sound on Manning Fireworks – he writes like one of the classic artists, but delivers his songs in a very contemporary way.

Almost every track could be highlighted, as even one of the more uninspired musical efforts like ‘She’s Leaving You’ has lyrical moments that will stick with you. But slow burners like ‘Rip Torn’ (‘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’) and earworms such as ‘You Don’t Know The Shape I’m In’ (‘We sat/under a half mast Mcdonald’s flag’) will live longest in the memory for the way they mix beautiful imagery and words with interesting and hypnotic instrumentation.

There’s another slightly louder song in ‘On My Knees’ towards the end, and it may be the only unmemorable song on offer. ‘Bark At The Moon’ then closes the album out, bringing all the signature traits of the previous eight songs together – self-deprecation, great one liners, harsh rebukes, and quiet but captivating music. Why this song, and album, ends with about 6 minutes of ambient, screechy, guitar feedback is a bit of a mystery to me. But if we ignore that then what we have here is an interesting, fun, and gorgeous sounding album that suits a variety of moods and settings. The sound of the album as a whole is relaxing and meditative, but the personality in the words and stories give it an energy this type of music often lacks.

Words by Fran Slater