The Men - Devil Music

Pitchfork 68

The story of the Men goes something like this: In 2011, the Brooklyn four-piece, led by guitarists and singers Mark Perro and Nick Chiericozzi, release Leave Home on Sacred Bones, the band’s second and first widely-available LP. Its strangely inviting blend of post-hardcore, noise-metal and shoegaze is a shot in the arm to the genre. The band’s profile rises. And then—surprisingly, inexorably—the Men ditch the art-punk game for classic-rock traditionalism over the course of three short years, embracing Tom Petty, the Band, and Crazy Horse for three often-brilliant records.

By 2014, the end of that initial prolific run, the Men (by then a quintet) had charted a straight path from indie rock's outer reaches (Leave Home) to its catchier, college-rock middle ground (2012’s near-perfect Open Your Heart) to something approaching dad rock for drunks (2013’s New Moon, 2014’s underrated Tomorrow’s Hits). In that time, the Men drove steadily away from noise and bombast toward harmonies and hooks, without entirely scrubbing away the grime that first defined them.

Devil Music spins the car around 180 degrees and heads roaring back toward the psych-punk abandon of the Men’s early years. Released on the band’s own We Are the Men Records, and the crew’s first since parting ways with producer/multi-instrumentalist Ben Greenberg, the caustic, stubbornly lo-fi Devil Music sizzles like a hot coal—the Stooges, MC5, and Mudhoney compressed into an angry little ball.

On first listen, the album’s nine tracks can sound a little half-baked, like the band simply set up some recording gear in their practice room and ran through a few songs they had yet to entirely finish. Which is pretty much what they did: The quartet tracked nearly everything on Devil Music, including vocals, live to 1/2-inch tape in their basement practice space over the course of a single weekend. Some of the lyrics were improvised on the spot. While the feral recording quality is certainly an asset, the songwriting isn’t as nuanced or well-considered as it is on their best tracks—“Open Your Heart,” “Half Angel Half Light,” “Different Days.” Lead-single “Lion’s Den”—in many ways the record’s mission statement—is a stumbling panic attack of screeching guitar, crashing cymbals, and skronking sax.

So, yes, the melodies are harder to find. Though clearly that was the point: The Men weren’t trying to make a record you could sing along to. Devil Music is sweat, heat, and brute force above all. The song titles themselves suggest what the music does to your body: “Hit the Ground,” “Fire,” “Gun,” “Violate.” “Dreamer” is an amphetamine rush of Motörhead riffs and narcotized synths; the snarling, feedback-drenched guitars on “Violate” sound like they might rip through your chest, like Lou Reed’s paint-peeling solos on “I Heard Her Call My Name.” The Men sound exhausted by the urban grind, yet defiant. “I’m sick and tired of the city ’cause it gives me no place to hide,” Perro half-screams on “Fire.” On “Hit the Ground,” he vows to burn the whole place to the ground.

Ragers are in the Men’s wheelhouse, and they pull these songs off with savage aplomb. The addition of that skronking sax, which pops up throughout the record, is a welcome addition to the Men’s manic sound. Few other bands display such a giddy, almost childlike enthusiasm for rock ‘n’ roll catharsis. And Devil Music is an endearing testament to that passion.

Yet it’s disappointing that the Men felt compelled, for really the first time, to look backward. A band that built a legacy out of defying expectations and embracing a grab bag of genres for each new record—folk, classic rock, post-rock, noise, SST indie—returns to their scuzz-punk beginnings to make the most uniform album of their career. The Men are at their best when they’re testing the limits of their abilities, singing harmonies and writing hooks that wrench them out of their comfort zones. For all its wrath and fury, Devil Music feels safe and predictable. It’s a hell of a party, but it’s one we’ve been to before.