Words by Braden Rapp//Illustration by Ryan Flynn
Live at Sokol Underground

Dearest Pit Er Pat,

Here’s the thing, I like you guys. I’ve been passively listening to you for some time now, and there are moments that I feel undoubtedly in sync with your slightly amoebic form of art rock. In fact, I am pretty infatuated with your newest album Pyramids. It seems that you have embraced a sexier slink, and perhaps a greater reliance on melody. Personally, I love sexy slink! Indubitably, I love melody! And since you are touring in support of an album that employs both aspects much more willfully than any of your previous efforts, you can imagine how excited I was to see that you were opening for Man Man—a band that holds a bigger spot in my heart than most of my extended family.

So you began playing. My expectations were high. You three had donned some eccentric article of clothing, all which seemed slightly arbitrary in relation to your brand of musical excursion. It was cute, nonetheless, and your oversized apparel swayed sensuously with the curvy creep being exuded by your instruments. I must say, the songs I recognized had a bit more weight in a live setting, which is quite a statement in regards to any band, but certainly one comprised of only three people. I would wager that has a lot to do with all the beef built into the bent rhythms of Butchy Fuego’s drumming. Your set was crisp, and never sludgy. You represented your catalog well, and I appreciated that. You kept things concise, and never once did you seem dull. You then stopped playing. I thought, “Well that was nice, I can’t wait to listen to Pyramids again.”

…And then Man Man took the stage.

They were all decked in white, a few mustachioed, a few wearing head bands. Their instruments all smooshed together, each member beating the tar out of something within inches of another member beating the tar out of something else. They opened with “Feathers,” and barreled into “White Rice/Brown Heart.” They didn’t stop barreling. I have never witnessed a show that felt so organic and also so intimate without any sort of interaction with the audience, aside from a few shout-a-longs i.e. the GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE from “English Bwudd.” They writhed unbridled with an amount of energy I can’t imagine being present in mere humans. Such a thing makes sense, because on stage Man Man’s members hardly even appear to be human. They take the threshold before their artillery and amalgamate into something feral. They become a mass of rough and tumble everything, squeals, falsetto, growls, beats, crashes, all of which serve as accents to what makes them truly magnificent: The ability to write compelling songs. Coupling that with such raw execution makes for one of the best live bands one could behold.

This is why I address you, Pit Er Pat. Man Man is so good. They are so terribly good that I’m afraid you were slighted by having to open for them. Of course, your music does act as a wonderful conduit to what Man Man puts forth. However, I fear your performance was or will be lost in the recollection of many. While your songs carry their own sort of depth, none really contain the sticking ability that songs like “I, Manface” or “Van Helsing Boombox” have, especially when they are performed so impeccably live. I make no claim that those in attendance will or have just plain forgotten about your wonderful performance, but Man Man’s brilliance may well have cast a shadow over this performance of yours that unfortunately lends you the short end of the memory stick. I’m sure you noticed how devilishly rapt every onlooker was, I even took note that the three of you were watching equally enthralled from the side of the stage. How could you not? Man Man was nothing short of astounding. I just want to let you know that you were good too, and that had you been paired with a group of musicians who performed on a normal plane, you may have been appreciated by the mass to the extent that you deserved. Not that you weren’t exactly…I’m just saying. I feel for you.

Love 4ever,
Braden