Chicago's Mannequin Men are about as basic as a rock quartet can get: a couple of guitars, bass, drums, some loud amps, and compact songs-- they make punk-tinged rock as straight-ahead as anyone. They've probably listened to their fair share of Replacements records and peak-period punk (a more ragged Radio Birdman comes to mind), and judging from Lose Your Illusion, Too, their third album, they've assimilated those things plenty well enough to do it themselves, and do it well. Hiding behind that creepy/confusing, vaguely provocative album cover is something altogether easier to digest.
Leading the charge is guitarist/vocalist Kevin Richard, whose gritty, strangled delivery is the automatic focal point, reinforced by his mates shouting in tandem behind him. This gives the music a visceral kick that the riffs and rhythms can't usually muster by themselves, but it also compromises some of the band's melodic ambitions-- his sandpaper rasp sometimes simply fails to define the notes. Lose Your Illusion isn't significantly different from the band's first two albums, but it does have a bit more pop in the songwriting, and inevitably that sharpest hooks are the ones where the backing vocals ride to the rescue, as they do on every line of "Helpful", a song whose clipped gait gives it a Clash-y feel.
"Kinda Babes" is a good example of a song whose pop appeal is compromised by the constantly strained lead vocals-- the lighter arrangement, with just a bit of tambourine for percussion and cleanly strummed guitar, gets into a nice call-and-response between the backing vocals and the lead, but where the backing vocals hint at a fluid phrase, it never comes, and instead a bit of slide guitar mixed way back comes in to hint even further. "Exquisite Corpse", an attempt at a ballad, drips with catharsis but isn't half as memorable as it should be. The gravel is a lot more apt on amped-up stomper "Chopper", which cycles through ferocious Stooges riffs with wicked authority. "Never Lived By Myself" makes good use of humor in the call-and-response, with drummer Seth Bohn rhetorically asking, "Where did all my money go? I don't know. I probably spent it all on smokes," and getting an unexpected answer from the band, which replies, "Yes, probably."
They save the hardest punch for last, wrapping the album up with "(Us And) All Our Friends Are So Messed Up", a song that morphs into a massive barroom shout-along in its final third that I imagine would be thrilling in a club with the crowd joining in. In fact, most of the album seems as though it would translate better on stage, where the sweat and volume of a club could really send it all home. As it stands, Lose Your Illusion, Too makes a good racket but falls a little short of making its songs stick.
