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?