4 out of 5

Label: Australian Cattle God (US edition)

Produced by: David Odlum

Some moons ago, when I was a tiny lad in oversized pants, there was a period of time when my parents were often playing a CD soundtrack of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Phantom of the Opera. What cast? What recording? No clue. They had seen the show at whatever our non-NY version of Broadway was and become obsessed (at least in my narrative), and played that soundtrack over and over. We were not a music-filled house, with standards like Michael Jackson and Beach Boys 8-tracks and LPs stuffed into a closet somewhere, and trips in the car scored by oldies radio. So the appearance of this music was notable in the first place, and I remember both of my parents remarking on a particular bit where – suddenly! – an electric guitar riff played in one of the songs; this was edgy. My kid brain translated that into my parents liking edgy music, but, y’know, the first time I tried to play something that I thought was good and had some electric guitar riffs – you like those, right? – I was told to turn it down.

Some moons later, while working at a record store, I’d often see this pattern repeated: folks were down with a bit of grit in their music as long as it was treated like an exception to the rule of the Americana or twee pop or whatever they were listening to. It’s the music version of dating the bad boy or girl – appealing for a spin around the block to your dealer, but you’re not bringing them home.

The Redneck Manifesto – nowadays smartly rebranded to TRM when edgelord Jim Goad, author of the same-named book, went the way of all edgelords and towards the alt-right – are a band to bring home, especially if your home is one with NPR often on the radio, but it’d also work fine in a Phantom of the Opera household. They play a misleadingly delicate brand of instrumental music that’s mostly plucked and strummed; the band is from Ireland, but I’m tempted to describe the music with “redneck”-adjacent y’alls and the like: it’s something to tap your toe to while sitting on a rocking chair, sipping from a mason jar, and listening to the bees buzz. The cover is a bright but calming yellow, loopy cursive script signing the band’s name above some I-casually-take-psychedelics-or-okay-I-did-in-college-but-I’m-an-adult-now illustrations of flowers. Are you with me?

And then halfway through, on ‘Break Your Fingers Laughing’ (an admittedly great song name) the group plugs in and starts to shred for a few minutes, all-out. For hardcore kids, it’s not gonna shake any speakers, but it’ll have that Phantom of the Opera effect for most: it’s pretty edgy stuff. It’s louder than I would’ve expected – even in passing – and harkens back to the band members’ times in some rougher outfits prior to TRM.

I’m (gently?) skewering the band, but this is truly enjoyable stuff, and quite technically impressive to get it to its smooth-sailing levels. While not necessarily out of place in the early 00s, when Polyvinyl and Thrill Jockey offered up easy listening acts aplenty – Pele, The Sea and Cake – TRM’s offering from the same time holds up as a more timeless listen, thanks very much to its flexibility. Setting aside the hard-rock flash, the group scales up and down in tempo, and flexes way more into math rock than I’m suggesting, but it’s played so casually and calmly it just doesn’t really register that way. The characterization I’m giving it isn’t wrong, but it goes a lot deeper than that at the same time; it’s a sneaky listen, the lazy Sunday vibe giving way to tunes that are fit for listening to at any time, and any household.