Manic Men

Mannequin Men write the soundtrack for a generation of broken teeth. A generation marked by twelve dudes squatting in a house, making bathtubs and closets into bedrooms, sitting on the front stoop sucking on 40s, dying their pets and giving them mohawks, and dancing to reggae and old soul until the sun rises over their breakfast plates at Denny's.

Now take all that and filter it through middle class backgrounds that wish that was their lifestyle and you have The Mannequin Men's actual sound. It's punk, but it's catchy without resorting to food court tactics. It's garage but clean enough to show the brains behind the slop. The lyrics are all about handjobs, and the failing health of a 20-something that's too old for his mom's insurance. It's the sound of privilege being broken on the stairwell as the protagonist stumbles over in a pot soaked daze. It's shouting, rather, slurring, to the sky with all of your friends in the celebration of inebriation.

This is a soundtrack penned by people that don't hate on hipsters because it just ain't worth the effort. It's the soundtrack to nihilism mixed with the hippy dream. It's a bunch of dudes who all the girls tragically love but will never get because these dudes love their lifestyles way more than any drunken make out session. (Not that they're gonna turn one down, but don't expect them to stay for breakfast.)

The Mannequin Men's new album, Lose Your Illusion, Too, is all of this. But most importantly it's a joyous scream towards the moon, an anguished celebration of decadence, and the hopeful realization that while the future holds more, the now is always the most exciting.

Mannequin Men play a record release show for Lose Your Illusion, Too on Friday, July 10, at Metro, 3730 N Clark, 8 p.m., $12, 18+