By Sara Guillen-Alvarado

The imagery and tone throughout Manning Fireworks presents to me a feeling of melancholy. MJ Lenderman embraces recklessness and raw vulnerability in his latest album release. But the notion of an agonized American South character is a thread weaving throughout the ANTI- label. ANTI-, founded at the turn of the 21st century, hit the ground running with Tom Waits’ Mule Variations as its first big release. It can be argued that alternative country as a genre had been gaining traction since the middle of the 20th century with outlaw country such as Johnny Cash or Lynyrd Skynyrd. However, the release of Mule Variations under the ANTI- label was arguably a turning point for the establishment of the genre, fostering a collection of artists with sounds unlike traditional country featured on the radio. What remains true for ANTI- to this day is its commitment to artists with storytelling abilities rooted in a country upbringing. Merle Haggard, country legend renowned for his stories of poverty, crime, and redemption, is signed with the label. So is Dr. Dog, with an indie-rock/Americana blend with unique vocals, as well as the late 90s band Sparklehorse, who has more of an alternative rock/country blend. The label also hosts some more contemporary artists such as Katie Crutchfield of Waxahatchee, arguably one of the most notable alternative country musicians in the last year, and the fantastic indie rock band Slow Pulp, who has personally been in my Spotify Wrapped for 5 years and counting. All that to say: ANTI- has some cool shit. And also, I’m terrible at categorizing, so take all those designated genres with a grain of salt.

What MJ Lenderman, who signed with the label in 2023 after four years with Dear Life Records, does best in Manning Fireworks is construct a character who is, to put it bluntly, a goddamn miserable motherfucker. For 38 minutes, the listener gets to know the tormented character. Lenderman, who grew up in the music-ridden Asheville, North Carolina, spoke just a few days ago with GQ about the whirlwind of bands and activities he engaged in while establishing a music career. In the interview, Lenderman opens up a little about the peaks and valleys of his most successful release as a solo artist. While Manning Fireworks received praise from credited music critics and fans alike, Jake, as a person not an artist, was struggling with the turbulence of a move, a breakup, and being catapulted into months of tours, interviews, and press. This vulnerability is, in my opinion, what makes Lenderman’s music so tasteful. The music makes you think of mud on your shoes and clothes on the floor and a crumpled beer can. And yet, a pedal steel guitar can cut through the chaos and sound like a friend.

My first exposure to MJ Lenderman came in 2020. A junior in high school in the midst of COVID-19, I felt my life teetering closer to the edge of the unknown. To add to my teenage angst, my family moved across the country as I stayed in my hometown to finish out high school. Yeah, tons of people find themselves in similar (or worse) situations. But I was 16. And dramatic. And the angst of MJ Lenderman’s self-titled album resonated with me in a way that felt comforting. So when I stumbled across the opportunity to see MJ Lenderman and the Wind in Portland, OR, I accepted immediately. I also saw Wednesday, a band in which Lenderman is a staple member (and, up until a week ago, toured with), at Revolution Hall. I knew both concerts would go down as some of my favorite live music, but I didn’t know what to expect from Lenderman’s solo tour. Jake’s entire discography is an expression of his most consistent artistic motifs; self-loathing, sadness, pity, indulgence, and the humor of the mix. Let me tell you about it. 

First, Manning Fireworks is fucking incredible. I’d like to highlight some of my notable lyrics from the album. In a fitting manner, the opening line of the entire album is also my favorite of the entire album; “Birds against a heavy wind / That wins in the end”. This sets the tone for the rest of the record, noting the push-pull dynamic present throughout. There’s also an honest surrender, too. “Draining cum from hotel showers / Hoping for the hours to pass a little faster” in Joker Lips describes a vulgar task and, more importantly, the poor fellow set to complete it even though he wishes he were anywhere else. There’s a sense of submission– “If you tap on the glass / The sharks might look at you / You’re damned if they don’t / And you’re damned if they do” (Rip Torn). While I tend to consider myself an optimist, I appreciate the pessimism here. Sometimes things just fucking suck. The anxiety that comes with feeling like the tiniest fish in the world’s biggest pond isn’t fun. And for me, that’s what makes the album so good. Everyone feels like that sometimes. The human experience is burdened by a vivid angst that Lenderman transforms into 38 minutes of goddamn good music. In On My Knees (submissive even just in the title), Lenderman writes “And everyday is a miracle / Not to mention a threat”. Things can be both. It’s messy. I feel that all the time. I’m sure you do, too.

To hear these songs live was a dream. Revolution Hall is a sick venue and every show I’ve seen there has been a hoot and a holler! Lenderman’s sound felt more alive in person; had more grit to it. His vocals were spot-on, and his band members all ripped. The stage presence, too, was unique to each band member. It’s clear that Lenderman’s music is very personal, just as it’s clear that the band loves what they’re doing. The sound of alternative country has a sort of drone/drawl quality to it that is not easily emulated. MJ Lenderman and the Wind gave an engaging, captivating show to an audience young and old. A highlight was a special cameo by Patterson Hood, co-founder of Drive-By Truckers. Lenderman and Hood seemed like good buddies, which only makes sense given that Lenderman has credited the latter as a major musical influence. I left feeling fulfilled and ecstatic despite shedding a few tears upon hearing songs full of personal sentiment. Live music is a delight, and I look forward to every show I get to see in the future, but this one felt like something special. It was music that felt honest to myself.

Lenderman’s writing throughout the album made me feel, above all else, desolate. But in a strange way it also felt like a relief. A lot of ANTI- ‘s artists’ music feels like that, actually. Like, “Thank God someone else feels like this, too. And thank God someone makes good art out of it because Lord knows I can’t.”