The Mannequin Men have become known for recreating the brash 70s and 80s punk sound that hoisted bands like the Ramones and the Meat Puppets into the public eye once upon a time. With their third album not much has changed. The band has only gotten tighter over time and Kevin Richards’ impassioned growls are as chilling as ever. Sadly enough, lack of change also essentially means stagnation. The wall that the Mannequin Men have run into is an obstacle that many bands have encountered and failed to overcome. They’ve pigeon-holed themselves into an increasingly restricting style. It is a phenomenon that affects musicians who lack the proper vision required to evolve and distinguish themselves from the pack. It has cut short many careers. This is a band that is good at what they do, but it’s all been done before, many times. The raw depraved fun of ‘Rathole’ opens the album perfectly, conjuring up pictures of a wild beer soaked house party in some filthy New York basement – thrashing leather jacketed, wild haired, filthy, dirty madness, sex and violence, the essence of punk that they continue to capture so well. The opening debauchery is followed by ‘(Who Is) Alice Golden?,’ a fleeting glimpse at the band’s lesser observed progressive edge. It is an interesting blend of punk and prog sounds that they might do well to sharpen and hone. With few other exceptions, this album is a collection of the same good ol’ over-anxious guitar riffs and defiant wails that gave punk music a name so many years ago.
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