Dorothy-June Fraser

Shenanigan-loving ManMan hit the Media Club on Saturday night (Sept.30th). Being the always-prepared bon-a-fide journalist that I am, I had a plan to get to them at the show, seeing as I had no contact information (nor did I search for any prior to arrival). I had to get motivated to make some sort of rememberable splash (how many journalists in how many cities use these kind of tactics, I don't know...) in the brain of whoever happened to be connected to the band themselves.

Approaching the merch table on my way back from the bar, with caeser in hand, I saw that they were selling the second ManMan album, Six Demon Bag, on ten-inch, double vinyl. I had to give them immediate kudos and buy one. This has to do with my own long-running analog fetish/obsession. I keep insisting that analog is the new digital, but the idea lacked enough pectin to gel. At least within my immediate circle of friends, colleagues, aqquaintances. Not to mention the title of the album alone could have gotten me to buy several copies. Nothing like bad Kurt Russell '80s movies to title crazy, experimental music after.

So, the bearded man who sat behind the fabulous card table that serves as the merch display told me that he was their manager (after I inquired and chatted about vinyl for a while). This struck me like my fourth caesar, and so I left in a daze. What's my hook? Do I just come out and ask for interviewing rights? Do I demnad them? Do I sit and observe quietly and involve myself in nothing?

It came to me after the first song of their set, which involved much moustached and sweat-banded antics. Make a splash. Showmanship. Yes. So I went back to the merch table, explained my position and wrote down my contact info for the manager, adding on the bottom:
THAT GIRL WHO KISSED YOU!
And as he stared at the paper, I gave him exactly one nanosecond to consider it before I laid a straight-up smacker on his lips/cheek/ I say lips/cheek because he was so offended (?)/stunned by this act it turned out awkward and had to be followed by some mumbled apologies and various forms of mental self-flagellation on my part.

Oh dear.

But, I did get their phone number, emails and various other pertinent information to follow said experience by perhaps, just maybe, some sort of journalism that didn't involve copius amounts of alcohol-fueled courage and hilarity. Well, probably hilarity. So, on my agenda before I interview them, email an apology. Stat.
It will go as follows:

Hey!

Remember Vancouver?

I am that crazy woman who kissed you for purposes of you remembering me. Are you married or otherwise involved? If so, I am sorry, feel free to pass that onto your wife. At least I didn't try to give you any tongue, right?

and so on and so forth.

Now that we have had my embarassing/amusing content of this blog, we can go on to how AMAZINGLY FABULOUS the show was: I guess it makes sense to try and explain the style of ManMan, but, unfortunately, I can't. Maybe a whole bunch of adjectives spun together to form some uber-descriptive word would work.

suphappybulousnessenceofartrocktasticality.

Uhm, no.

So, I have failed. But, needless to say, it is impossible not to dance to, even in Vancouver, where the smallest movement of the hips can be qualified as bad enough to have your asymmetrical haircut made symmetrical. The horror!

Despite all the ridiculous/fabulous fashion of the evening (yes- i am confused about where I stand) I managed to get past appearances and save all my jokes for later conversations with metalheads who I will, in turn, make fun of to all my Emo aqquaintances.

See, it's all cyclical.

Turns out, a few days after my attention-seeking kiss I am now internet friends with ManMan's man-ager.

So, the latest news, folk: you can still be ultimately annoying, semi-drunkenly precocious and pushy and win. Woohoo.

Make it a plan, really. I will.

I met a man who looked a lot like Andy Warhol that night. His name was TrevTrav.Well, his self-given name anyway and he was stationed firmly on the patio with his friend, Nameless Johnny. Serious. So, this Warhol look-alike and his named, anonymous friend and I got down to the brass tacks about ManMan. I figured it was kinda, sorta maybe Mr. Bungle v.2...they lacked an energetic opinion for anything besides ridiculous clothing, so I left them to their own experience.

Having once been given a description that ManMan was "Gilbert and Sullivan on crack", and another time reading on some review somewhere on the interwebs that they were "almost impossible to listen to sober", I obviously needed some more info.

Besides the songs they played. Oh yeah, and the album I bought. And all the other stuff I downloaded.

Now that I have typed it all out it seems ridiculous to say I am uninformed. i am very informed.

ManMan is...suphappybulousnessenceofartrocktasticality.

They take off where Sonic Youth began and take themselves much less seriously. Their degree of "sonic experimentation" (from the same website with the sobriety comment, I think) has much to do with their moustaches, which I believe to be a mind control device. Not just theirs, though. Every moustache. Why was Tom Sellick SO popular?

That's right.

But I digress.

Their wacky hijinx inspired me to have some of my own (see above). Now I get to interview them. We'lll see if they admit to that moustache thing.
I think it might be a secret society or something.

I listened to Six Demon Bag sober and really enjoyed it. I was at their concert and really enjoyed it. But I was tipsy there. So maybe that dude is half-right. Maybe he has a moustache deflector shield.

ManMantastic, say I.