Manchester Orchestra: A catalyst for catharsis
I’ve been to a lot of live shows in my day but if there’s one band I’ve seen the most — and has taken me to a pseudo-spiritual experience every time I see them— that band is Manchester Orchestra. Seeing them live puts me in a trance — an outer body experience where my spirit floats along with sonic waves.
Interestingly enough, I saw them perform live last month which is the first live show I’ve been to since Covid stalled all live events. It seems right that my first live show was them — I “grew up” with them throughout my most musically formative years and can never skip one of their songs if they come on shuffle.
In fact, if I had to choose one band’s repertoire of music to listen to for the rest of my life, it would be MO. MO truly captures everything I look for in music:
- Deeply compelling lyrics driven by honest storytelling,
- Heavy rock and roll energy,
- Soft and delicate moments of vulnerability,
- Perfectly balanced and “tight” instrumentation,
- And most of all, some feeling of catharsis.
As corny as it sounds, MO changed my life — they influenced my own journey as a musician and have simultaneously made me appreciate a single catalogue of music on a deep level more than any other. Until I heard “Shake It Out” for the first time, I hadn’t instantly related and loved any other music before then.
A musical turning point
MO’s album Mean Everything To Nothing — which features “Shake It Out” — is my favorite album of all time. And as a side note, I really dig their song Pride which is on the album as well — it may be my favorite rock song ever.
Anyway, there is not an album that I can frequently listen to, frontwards and back, and not get sick of. From the first time I put their CD in my car right after I bought it at Newbury Comics, to the ear to ear grin I get when a friend says they’ve never heard them before — which promptly queues me to put it on the turntable — there probably isn’t an album I’ve listened to more times than METN.
My first introduction to this work of music — this band — was in a PacSun clothing store of all places.
There I was, 18-year-old Ryan scouring the clearance rack for skinny jeans, when I heard this aggressive, one note riff that exploded into something I had never heard before. It was comfortable and “familiar” — it was definitely rock and roll — but unique enough to grab my attention. Something with tight palm mutes and dynamic, banshee-like vocals — something right up my alley.
I was “looking” through the clothes racks but actively listening to a song well into its second verse — I had a feeling it was going to peak into something even more explosive.
The second chorus came, followed by a quick drop. And then, it fuckin’ hit.
Cobain-like sing-screams yelled, “Shake it out” over guitars and drums that felt like a car going 100 around tight turns. It was “peaking” — busting at the seams and then all of a sudden, and yet again, dropped. But into something so somber and vulnerable — the staunch change of the song’s vibe instantly became a catalyst for my own catharsis:
I felt the lord begin,
To peel off all my skin,
And I felt the weight within,
Reveal a bigger mess,
That you can’t fix.
I had forgotten I was looking for jeans — I stood there, trying to make sense of this song. I felt like I was transported into an alternate dimension — a place where music up until that point, was just “tuning up.”
Then, a different kind of explosion happened.
It was heavy again but not in a chaotic way — the drums, guitars, and bass were hitting the same note, over and over, all while the frontman was pouring out his guts. With written on your sleeve honesty and heavy hitting sonic forces wrapped in mindfulness, I was instantly hooked. So much so that I asked an employee if they had the name of the band that just rocked my cage.
“Uh, I think they’re called Manchester Orchestra,” a slightly baked PacSun employee said.
Great — I just found my favorite band.
MO takes me to “church”
MO has a pseudo-Americana sensibility that makes you feel as though you’re a member of the MO “choir.” The syntax of their lyrics flow poetically in a way that hymns do — easy to follow melodies and themes, driven by deeply relatable words that give a sense of true reflection and most of all, necessary catharsis. The essential “bleeding out” your soul needs to heal so it can endure.
Their lyrics are mindful in the sense that they’re almost universally empathetic — they truly tug at your inner empath.
Calling music “raw” is a cliché often used — and even though I resist the urge to it — for me, there isn’t a better way to describe MO’s lyrics than just that. To be raw — to me — is to read your diary out loud. To be the fly on the wall while you watch yourself bear all to your therapist. It’s a manifestation of what you fear, love, and everything in between.
Raw is to be honest and true to yourself — and MO’s lyrics and music are nothing if they’re not authentic and true to their identity. All making their persona truly relatable in a way I’ve never found in any other band.
Good art perpetuates more art
Other than my preference for MO’s musical style, the amount of creative inspiration I get from them — both musically and not — is unparalleled in many ways.
The first two songs I ever wrote on my own are a direct result of this MO-induced creative inspiration. My songs “September” and “Holidays” on this old EP of mine came from a period where I was entrenched in MO’s music. In fact, the lyrics of the last chorus of my song “Holidays” is a nod to frontman Andy Hull’s solo side project “Right Away Great Captain.” The lyrics go:
Captain oh my great captain,
Lead me out of this storm,
My bones they hurt,
My lungs grasp for clean air.
Sure, I could be singing to God but in retrospect, I could also be singing to Hull who became my captain and guide as I navigated the infancy of my own music writing journey. I’ll leave it up to you to interpret it how you wish.
To me, the main mechanism of “good” art is to perpetuate more art — to inspire more interpretations that give reverence to those that came before your own. For music, I have certain guides that help me formulate something that doesn’t just resonate with others but more importantly, resonate with my own soul.
For writing — not music — MO is a frequent source of background noise that helps get the creative juices flowing. As previously mentioned, the poetic syntax of MO’s lyrics gets me in a “writer-ly” state — one that isn’t bothered by getting a perfect first draft but rather a free flowing sequence of words and thoughts on a page.
Even if I’m not listening to MO exclusively while I write, I usually put on a melancholy, moody Spotify playlist I have called “get sad” which features some MO songs, their collaborations, etc.
MO’s art has perpetuated much of my own — which makes my relationship with the band so much deeper than other catalogues of music. All of my “art” nods to my “guides” in some fashion or another — and much of my art gratefully nods to MO.
A grateful sigh and a cigarette
There I stood on the balcony of the House of Blues in Boston, taking in all I just witnessed. The same familiar sound that caught my ear in PacSun had once again rocked my cage and left me in total wonderment and satisfaction. I thought, “Fuck, I’ve seen this band more times than any other and it never gets old — what a band.”
Feedbacking amps and petering out applause cloaked the air waves as the house lights queued, “the party is over.” I sighed, completely satisfied like I would after a big Thanksgiving meal with my loved ones and reflected about how much this band from Atlanta means to me. Sure, I don’t know them personally but in a sense, I feel like I do. I understand their music — more than any other — and in return, it somehow understands me.
With ears ringing and heart full of musical ecstasy, I walked outside, looked at their tour bus, lit up a cigarette and said, “Until next time, you beautiful band. Until next time.”
Cheers,
Ry
PS: MO recently put out a new album called The Million Masks of God. And while you should listen to it in its entirety, here are three tracks I really enjoy along with my “tasting” notes:
- “Inaudible” — blissful, crisp, harmoniously somber
- “Angel of Death” — electric, sharp, cloaked in groove
- “Dinosaur” — reverent, colossal, deeply mindful
