MJ Lenderman is accelerating on a path for total takeover. The Asheville, North Carolina-born singer-songwriter set a high standard for himself with his 2022 sophomore effort “Boat Songs,” comprising roughly 34 minutes of alternative-country filtered through the sonic approaches of indie and slacker rock. The recently released “Manning Fireworks” goes beyond his impressive past work, establishing Lenderman’s distinct voice and style as one of the most promising in all of contemporary music.
Drawing on progenitors like Will Oldham and Jason Molina—the latter being directly cited by Lenderman as an inspiration—has granted him a predestined yet developing cult following as a sort of “voice of his generation,” despite the seemingly confused and specific content of his lyrical repertoire. Whereas “Boat Songs” firmly presented Lenderman’s aforementioned genre syllogism, “Manning Fireworks” more thoroughly expresses his sensibilities as a writer.
“Boat Songs” unfortunately sat on my radar for nearly two years before I heard it, a mistake I have amended by listening to “Manning Fireworks” a half-dozen times in full since its release. Across the album’s tracklist, Lenderman’s word is given priority without diminishing any instrumental intensity. Rather, the delivery cuts across this sound in a manner that leaves immediate impressions for first-time listening; as someone who takes longer than usual to catch onto vocals, the impact was notable. A continuing interest in Americana, sports and melancholia forms the partial foundation of this project, with the emotional poignancy dialed up for new frontiers.
A biographical backdrop lends some explanation; in July, Lenderman separated from Katy Hartzman, his partner and fellow bandmate in the alternative rock group Wednesday. “Manning Fireworks” expectedly includes a great deal of self-reflection on romance. Rather than merely reading like a mopey 20-something working through heartbreak, Lenderman’s lyrics resemble a patchwork of stream-of-consciousness diary pages describing his inner turmoil and daily life, torn to shreds and rearranged in new order. The end result is wry but sincere, detached yet direct, realistic and surreal; David Berman feels like the most obvious referent, but the two artists remain distinct enough to deny plausible connection. The first sentence in Jeremy D. Larson’s Pitchfork “Best New Music” review hits exactly on this point, claiming, “In an MJ Lenderman song, the extraordinary is always elbowing its way into the mundane.” Even without overturning such inspirations, Lenderman has decidedly put his own stamp on this niche at a young age. I will attempt to give my two cents without explaining away the charm.
“Manning Fireworks” opens with its title track, using an acoustic guitar pattern that recalls Neil Young’s “Harvest” and an American-football-inspired name that resonates with his previous track “Dan Marino.” The song is largely acoustic and lyrically vivid, driven by upright bass and complimentary strings. Lenderman’s delivery is swinging and easygoing, seemingly disaffected but strained enough to hold emotional weight. As noted by New York Times critic Lindsay Zoladz, an essential tension here consists of him singing “like someone who doesn’t care but then writ[ing] like someone who secretly and very deeply does.” In this regard, Lenderman seems willing to bear his soul if it can be filtered through partial distractions and comedic moments.
Lyrical non-sequiturs and humorous, self-aware delivery characterize the bizarreness of “Joker Lips.” Even after describing, “Draining cum from hotel showers / Hoping for the hours to pass a little faster,” he quickly course-corrects and states, “Please don’t laugh, only half of what I said was a joke,” out of embarrassment, navigating his openness and the resulting shame of being so frank. Pining still finds a place during the piece’s conclusion in which Lenderman offers a plea: “And you know I love my TV / But all I really wanna see, is see you need me.”
Out of context, the lyrics might appear gimmicky or attention-seeking. The country-rock of “Rudolph” and “Wristwatch” cut back in this regard while still finding the space to mention Lighting McQueen. Lenderman is seemingly naming whatever comes to mind, a set of cultural references and incongruent images amidst which loneliness reappears with Catholicism: “I wouldn’t be in the seminary if I could be with you / If I could be with you.” Deep, resonant guitar chords on the fourth song lead to another instrumental ending, including a guitar solo which—like other songs across the album—repeats the melody of previous vocal hooks. As with his vocal inflections, the product is understated but stylized.
At the center of “Manning Fireworks” is “She’s Leaving You,” a roaring track containing the LP’s most memorable chorus. It is the most straightforward exegesis on his breakup, even as it retains the “Lenderman-isms” of prior songs. Coping advice includes worshiping Eric Clapton as the second coming of Christ and the idea to “rent a Ferrari and sing the blues.” Another guitar solo rips through both traditional licks and a reprisal of the chorus, ending in a stunning combination of the song’s two main refrains. The simultaneous declaration of “She’s leaving you” and “It falls apart / We all got work to do / It gets dark / We all got work to do” hits like a southern-bound 18-wheeler, a refreshingly honest admission from our ever-evasive narrator.
“Rip Torn” is another acoustic number which traverses communicative struggles through the non-metaphor of difference between smoothies and milkshakes. The light strumming of “You Don’t Know the Shape I’m In” proceeds in similar fashion, touching again on concerns with distance and separation. Lenderman reminisces sitting under “a half-mast McDonald’s flag” while noting how those around him are “walking in twos leaving Noah’s ark / And it’s Sunday at the water park.” The past was not picturesque, but it at least offered a bonded outlet for Lenderman’s languid voice.
The pacing makes an abrupt turn with the punchy drums beginning “On My Knees,” a track listing choice which mirrors the variable content of Lenderman’s pen; an ascending three-note guitar riff here perfectly complements the end of musical phrases. “Bark At the Moon” serves as the album’s lengthy finale, an audacious closer which finishes with extended, folksy ambiance. Although I wish the ending was more in line with the rest of the work, the slow fade-out serves as an appreciated debrief following the winding messages contained within. As this chapter of Lenderman’s already accomplished career comes to total silence, I will be eagerly awaiting the first rumblings of his future musical activity. If he continues to simply speak his mind, I am sure we will be rewarded.