Rabbit Habits Man Man Anti Records Records: Modest Mouse, Tom Waits

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Has Man Man gone pop? Not quite, but that seems to be the direction the band is headed given its newest release, Rabbit Habits. The shrieking, the freak-outs, the multi-instrumental mayhem and general weirdness are still present, albeit in much smaller doses than on Six Demon Bag or The Man in the Blue Turban with a Face. Man Man has forgone a lot of its experimental/gypsy ticks on the third release in exchange for a sobered up, 13-track rock album.

Six Demon Bag is chock full of the kind of songs that make people feel like their bodies are sizzling inside with giddy chaos. The album is at the same time circus-like and sad, and it’s impossible to make it all the way through without exploding at least a little. A testament to the album’s energy is the four-second “Fishstick Gumbo,” which featured a single shriek of feral excitement.

The new Rabbit Habits has fewer moments like these. The exceptions are “Mister Jung Stuffed” and “The Ballad of Butter Beans,” which is drunk with marimba and girly vocals, courtesy of Emma Johanan.

The cover art is the cross section of a rabbit-like burrow, occupied by sallow-skinned characters that look like they crawled out of a Peter Brugel the Elder painting. These sad lives are a focus of Rabbit Habits. The title track is instrumentally barren and trots along at an eerily consistent tempo. Lead-singer Honus Honus wails on about a lonely couple: “And she don’t want to die alone / And he don’t want to die alone,” as he bangs very, very gently on his honky-tonk piano.

The strongest wave of songwriting on Rabbit Habits comes with the final three tracks. While it seems to betray the percussion-driven havoc of Six Demon Bag, “Top Drawer” is undeniably deserving of the repeat button. The song could almost be called catchy and can definitely be called danceable. Honus Honus is at his grizzly finest, snarling out playfully morbid lines: “You need a black Cadillac / so Death can drive and we’ll ride in the back.”

“Poor Jackie” begins with what the album booklet describes, quite aptly, as a “tragic violin” solo. The song is a Lennon-esque character sketch about a girl on the run from the law until it morphs into a jazzy pop piece, which has Honus singing, “I don’t see what / everybody / sees in your / sexy body.”

On “Whale Bones,” he wails out a forlorn anecdote about an unfaithful girl who returns to her loyal lover who “holds her / though she’s broken.” The steady trot of honky-tonk piano and a somber horn give the song a bluesy swagger, but the animal that is Man Man is nowhere to be found.

The men of Man Man have straightened out their act, which is not really a good thing. Rabbit Habits feels something like caging a beast made to run whacky and rabid – a beast that is now trying to squeeze through the bars of convention and accessibility. Even the most somber tracks on the band’s previous releases (i.e. “Van Helsing Boom Box”) weren’t without traces of hyperactivity.

But with three LPs to its name, it’s probably safe to say that Man Man will always have the ragged yet soulful voice of Honus Honus to sing out of more conventional genres. It’s been strained though love and loss and cigarettes and remains at the core of Rabbit Habits, even through all the goofiness of singalongs and dance numbers.