Mr. Airplane Man
Wed Oct 27
Berbati's Pan
10 SW 3rd

I normally take exception with the notion that there's no accounting for taste. Some music is good, a few things are great, and most everything else is shit--and it's my job to try and convince you what is what. If taste isn't accountable, there's really no reason for us to be having this (admittedly one-sided) conversation, is there? Even still, I have to admit that there are holes in logic even I can't explain. Like for example: why, in spite of the fact that the bulk of their similar garage contemporaries leave me totally cold, can I not seem to get enough of Mr. Airplane Man?

In spite of the fact that a completely apt description in the vein of "Delta Blues-inspired garage duo" sounds on paper about as exciting as watching Jack White make out with Bridget Jones--the Boston-based pair of Margaret Garrett and Tara McManus somehow transcend the trappings of their likeminded ilk. At it since 1996, Mr. Airplane Man's latest--this year's C'mon DJ--infuses their no-bullshit, Gories-inspired sound with the slightest drowsy reflection, tapping a vein with similarities to Spacemen 3. There's a sense that Garrett and McManus have a connection to the pulse of what they're aping in a way that's somehow more honest than most of their contemporaries--though Mr. Airplane Man isn't necessarily that different from the rest of the Garage Rock army when it comes right down to it. Which still doesn't really explain why I can't stop listening to them. I just like it, okay?