“You can put your clothes back on, she’s leaving you,” Asheville guitarist MJ Lenderman dryly announces on his first official single for his fourth full-length album, “Manning Fireworks.” The lyrics are straightforward and somewhat humiliating, but they tell you precisely what you need to know: This is the end of a relationship, and someone is hitting their absolute rock bottom. To make the relationship feel like it’s really sinking, Lenderman features ex-girlfriend Karly Hartzman as a backup singer to bring home the point that, yes, she’s actually leaving you this time.
On “Manning Fireworks,” Lenderman perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to be human in all its horror and beauty. Drenched in dazzling guitar solos, biting quips, religious innuendos and the occasional piss joke, Lenderman delivers a righteous indie rock project tying together short stories of people—who he refers to as “jerks” throughout the nine tracks—at their absolute lowest, searching for the one thing everyone wants: love. These jerks reflect Lenderman and, in turn, the listener as he navigates through the trials and tribulations of being alive. From drawing vivid pictures of a man waking up in a bowl of Lucky Charms after a long night of drinking on “Rip Torn,” to a reimagining of a classic Christmas character being a womanizing drunk on “Rudolph,” Lenderman illuminates the experience of being alive—even if it’s not always pretty.
“Joker Lips” embodies the album theme over a twangy guitar, describing a loser with a dead-end job who cleans bodily fluids out of hotel shower drains and doesn’t even have his license anymore, perfectly encapsulated by the witty rhyme scheme of “Kahlua shooter, DUI scooter.” Even though these lyrics are practically begging you to point and laugh at this deadbeat, Lenderman balances out the track with some of the most raw and honest lyrics on the album, “And you know I love my TV/But all I really wanna see is see you need me.” The line is simple and delivered with such harsh earnestness that it causes any listener to pause, reflect and agree with the sentiment.
Lenderman’s latest is a masterclass in balancing humor with devastatingly brutal break-up tracks. “Wristwatch” sees Lenderman bragging about his awesome beach house in Buffalo, his cool “Houseboat docked at the Himbo Dome,” and his new Apple Watch that’s capable of being a compass, a cell phone, a megaphone and a pocket knife—and a way for him to check in and see what his ex is up to after being dumped. Lenderman hides behind an obnoxious persona but still admits, “I’d give all my money/And I’d still take your pretty face.”
The singer trades in his use of sports references standard in past work to focus on classic rock and religious callbacks. “You Don’t Know The Shape I’m In,” a reference to 1960s rock group The Band’s “Shape I’m In,” describes a relationship ending outside of a McDonald’s as he blatantly starts the track off, “Some say distance grows the heart/But I know sometimes we just drift apart.” Lenderman notes the increased number of couples he’s seen, singing, “Everybody’s walking in twos, leaving Noah’s ark.” The religious references only enhance the loneliness the song’s protagonist is feeling and highlight the repeating theme of turning to God once one of these “jerks” reaches their personal lowest.
The ten-minute closer “Bark At The Moon” surmises the feeling of complete, hollow loneliness. The song has Lenderman reflecting on the end of a relationship when his partner is finally sick of the same-old behavior (“I took off on a bender/You took off on a jet/You’re in on my bit, you’re sick of the schtick/Well, what did you expect”). Lenderman begs his partner not to move to New York City since “It’s gonna change the way you dress,” while admitting on the same track he’s never fully left the confines of his room since he’s too busy playing Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark At The Moon” on the career mode version of “Guitar Hero.” The revelation is followed by six minutes of a painfully heavy guitar drone, leaving a cathartic emptiness at the end of the track.
“Manning Fireworks” is a raw, honest reflection on heartbreak, self-deprecation and the strange, oftentimes messy ways people cope. Lenderman may lace his lyrics with humor and absurdity, but at the core of each song is a search for connection, belonging and redemption, no matter how elusive. By the time the droning fades out, you’re left not just with a portrait of failure but with a deeper understanding of what it means to endure it.
Rating: 9/10
