MJ Lenderman, seen here playing his Jazzmaster with Wednesday, first started on guitar at the age of 8, when he was entranced by the music of Jimi Hendrix.
I observed how each would coalesce their creative germs over the course of months—sometimes years—into solid, reliable bits while whittling down and sharpening their inner clown. And, after eventually trying it myself, with much floundering, I can personally attest that it’s a lot harder than it looks.
Twenty-five-year-old, North Carolina-born songwriter MJ Lenderman tells me that his song ideas “usually start with one line; something that makes me laugh.” Well, on his new album Manning Fireworks, his major-label debut with Anti- Records and fourth studio full-length of his solo career—which has grown alongside his work with the band Wednesday—I can definitely hear the laughter.
On “Wristwatch,” he proclaims that he has “a beach home up in Buffalo,” and “a wristwatch that’s a pocket knife and a megaphone.” On “Rip Torn,” presumably named after the actor by the same name, he sings, “I guess I’ll call you Rip Torn / The way you got tore up / Passed out in your Lucky Charms / Lucky doesn’t mean much,” and, “You said there’s men and then there’s movies / And there’s men in Men in Black / Said there’s milkshakes and there’s smoothies / You always lose me when you talk like that.” (To jog your memory of the ’90s, Rip Torn plays “Zed” in Men in Black.)
Manning Fireworks, Lenderman’s fourth studio full-length, was written and recorded between tours. The title comes from the idea of someone recklessly setting-off the recreational explosives.
Most of the folk-y, country-rock tracks on Manning Fireworks clock in at around three to three-and-a-half minutes, and take that time to unwind without demanding any patience. Lenderman’s main guitar is a 2008 Fender Jazzmaster, which he recently had modded with a Mastery Bridge, and he unassumingly twangs out each straight-ahead riff in a woozy, barebones essence all his own. I first heard the album in its entirety at a listening party at NYC’s Mercury Lounge, where the label folks from Anti- requested that the audience not go on their phones and not talk while the album was playing. I was among a full crowd of people in the 250-capacity room who followed those rules, and Lenderman’s self-actualized storytelling made it easy. As a songwriter, he draws influence from Neil Young, Jason Molina, Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley (Drive-By Truckers), and David Berman and Will Oldham (Silver Jews).
The album’s title conjures some unique imagery, I tell him—just the verb “manning,” which I associate with sailors (“Man the ship”), military (“Man the barricades”), or machines (“Man the cash register”). He says the visual for him is “somebody standing too close [to fireworks] who could set off a huge explosion if they’re not careful. I guess that’s kind of the way I was using them. I like the phrase because, on its own, it sounds like the name of a store you would see in South Carolina or something.”
I wonder if he remembers the drastic uptick of unusually loud fireworks being set off in NYC during the pandemic, a phenomenon reported on by Rolling Stone, The New Yorker, and The Atlantic. (Many speculated that these fireworks were being given out to unwitting kids as a systemic attempt to disrupt the sleep of those organizing Black Lives Matter protests at the time.)
“That’s not what I was writing about,” he laughs, adding, “but I think it was the same summer where somebody set off a firework in my friend Alan’s car and it totaled the car.”
MJ Lenderman's Gear
From the process of making Manning Fireworks, Lenderman took away the lesson that asking for help from his peers (in terms of contributing to his music), can make his life a bit easier.
Photo by Karly Hartzman
Guitars
- 2008 Fender Jazzmaster
- 1979 Gibson Firebrand SG
Effects
- Death By Audio Interstellar Overdriver
- Dunlop Cry Baby Wah
- Boss DD-7 Digital Delay
- Tuner
Amp
- Fender Blues Deluxe with Warehouse speaker
Strings
- Ernie Ball Beefy Slinky (.011–.054)
But his idea of what it means to “man” fireworks reminds me of a Mel Brooks quote: “If I cut my finger, that’s tragedy. Comedy is if you walk into an open sewer and die.” And, I can say that I’ve never heard a songwriter say that their song ideas begin with an inspiring one-liner, let alone a country-rock musician. That’s something that sets Lenderman apart on the creative plane, and offers a lot of information behind why his lyrics are so distinctive.
“Do you like comedy?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies, suddenly looking like he’s more interested in speaking on the subject than about his music. “[There are] some newer specials that I’ve been liking. I really am just impressed at the courage it must take to do that, and to fail at it over and over and over again.”
Lenderman’s second guitar is his Gibson Firebrand SG, which he says “feels a little more fragile” than his Jazzmaster.
Photo by Yailene Leyva
Lenderman says that he first fell in love with guitar at the age of 8. He was entranced by Jimi Hendrix at the time, who was “all I listened to for a couple years. Then I got really into Derek Trucks, then slowly into more alternative stuff like J Mascis from Dinosaur Jr., Stephen Malkmus, and Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo from Sonic Youth. All that stuff’s been super informative to my guitar playing.”
Having seen Lenderman play at Mercury Lounge—he performed a few songs live after we listened to the Manning Fireworks album stream—I can say there’s an intriguing, deceptive reductiveness to his playing. He fingerpicks, but in a seemingly self-taught style; the riffs are simple; but his publicist boasts to me after the show that he can shred, too. He can, and you can hear that more on his heavier, rockier live album, And the Wind (Live and Loose!), released in November 2023.
He’s never been that into gear, and still has stock pickups on his Jazzmaster, but recently had the tech from the band Drop of Sun (members of which facilitated the recording of Manning Fireworks) modify his amps. Aside from that, his spare pedalboard contains a Death By Audio Interstellar Overdriver, a Cry Baby Wah, a Boss DD-7 Digital Delay, and a tuner.
Lenderman’s 13-year-old self was mostly into rap, and while that young teenager might be impressed by how far he’s come today with his music, he says he probably would be confused by the songs.
“How would you describe your music to someone who hasn’t heard it?” I ask.
“I usually just say rock,” he says, laughing, “or country rock.”
“But … if you had to write what makes you different, and the answer will either get you into Heaven or Hell, what would you say to avoid going to Hell?”
“Uhm, I guess.... I don’t know, I would tell whoever to listen to it and maybe go to Hell.”
YouTube It
Performing a song off his 2023 record, And the Wind (Live and Loose!), MJ Lenderman takes the stage at SXSW with his trademark, modest delivery and twanging black Jazzmaster.
On her new solo record, Laura Jane Grace goes back to her two most trusted partners in crime: her voice and her acoustic guitar.
“When things are moving, just keep moving,” she says. “I’m not trying to jinx anything, but I’m really looking forward to this year, and the future.
”Grace, who is best known for fronting iconic punk band Against Me!, has spent a good piece of the past four years trying to get her momentum back—the sort of energy that feels like a trademark for the singer and guitarist. Since she was a teen, her life has revolved around the seasons of music work: writing, recording, promoting, touring, repeat. Against Me! was three shows into a tour leg when the Covid pandemic slammed the brakes on that 20-year routine, and emotionally, Grace went flying through the windshield.
“My world was just completely turned upside down and shaken around,” she says. Since 2012, she had built her off-the-road life in an apartment in Chicago, but a shift in her personal life meant she had to split her time between there and St. Louis. There were some benefits: Grace couldn’t crank her amps in her apartment, and finding spare private space to play and record would be cheaper in St. Louis than Chicago. She found a studio there called Native Sound, which used to belong to Son Volt’s Jay Farrar, nested above a bar in downtown St. Louis. “I was like, ‘Shit, if Jay can make that work, so can I,’” says Grace.
Laura Jane Grace - "Birds Talk Too"
“When things are moving, just keep moving. I’m not trying to jinx anything, but I’m really looking forward to this year, and the future.”
That studio is where Grace recorded Hole in My Head, her third solo record, which was released on February 16. It’s a lean, uncomplicated folk-punk joyride. Though the opening, title track jolts the LP to life with a full-band punk-rock crush of melody, harmony, and abandon, the rest of the album is primarily about Grace’s vocal cords and her acoustic guitar. “I’m Not a Cop,” a fuzzy, crust-punk, doo-wop ditty, mashes together Modern Lovers’ off-kilter tone with a ’50s rock ’n’ roll shuffle. Then, “Dysphoria Hoodie” pares it back to just Grace and her acoustic for an ode to a baggy Adidas sweater—her greatest protector on days when she doesn’t want the world sussing her gender. Drums and a gritty electric check in again on the short, sweet firecracker “Birds Talk Too,” but otherwise, it’s all acoustic, propped up by a handful of bass lines and some good old handclaps, a tambourine, and shakers for percussion. Why did Grace pull back from years of full-band chaos?
“I mean this in the best way possible, but this record’s coming from a place of fear,” Grace explains. “Fear challenges you and makes you grow, and takes you out of your comfort zone. I think artists are most prolific and do their best work when they’re coming from a place of survival.”
Hole in My Head’s cover art, captured by Dave Decker and illustrated by Annie Walter, shows Grace behind the State Theatre in St. Petersburg, Florida. The recognizable cobblestones remind Grace of being a teen, doing “deviant shit” in that very alley with friends.
Entering her 40s in 2020, Grace was back in survival mode, a familiar place for her as a teen in Gainesville, Florida. Longtime fans will know this story well: After moving around the world with her family, Grace landed in the inland college town, a military brat turned anarchist punk. Between benders and doing “deviant shit” with friends, she started performing solo as Against Me!, with just an acoustic and her powerful, pitch-perfect roar. She played alone in dives up and down the panhandle before Against Me! solidified into a band. (Even then, their first recordings were as DIY as you can get: Original drummer Kevin McMahon played a bucket drum on the first two Against Me! EPs, and you’d be forgiven for thinking it makes an appearance on their first full-length, the now-iconic Against Me! Is Reinventing Axl Rose.)
“I think artists are most prolific and do their best work when they’re coming from a place of survival.”
Against Me! went on to sign with a major label and release two hi-fi punk-rock records, both produced by Butch Vig: 2007’s New Wave spawned their biggest hit with “Thrash Unreal,” and 2010’s White Crosses dipped further into arena-rock waters, an anarcho-Springsteen hybrid. This era famously cost Against Me! a good chunk of their earliest supporters, who felt burned by the band’s “selling out.” Their van’s tires were slashed on tour, and Grace was cussed out on plenty of occasions. But the band cut things off with corporate and went independent again for 2014’s scrappy Transgendered Dysphoria Blues, the first Against Me! record that explicitly detailed Grace’s experience as a trans woman.
That was 10 years ago. It’s as if Grace hit some uncanny peak with the major-label signing, and has since been slowly retracing her steps back to her crust-punk origins: After two solo records accompanied by her backing band, the Devouring Mothers, she’s back to just a voice and a guitar.
Laura Jane Grace's Gear
With Against Me!, Grace ascended from crust-punk streetnik to major-label star. But after two corporate records, the band went rogue again.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Everlast Coated Acoustic (.010–.050)
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky (.010–.046)
- Dunlop Tortex Standard .66 mm picks
Other similarities appeared over the last few years, as if some cosmic clock had been reset and she were back at square one. As a kid, she had spent summers and winters going up to Missouri, where her father lived. She always hated it, and this current era, where that state came back into her life, offered a chance to reconcile with the past. She decided to start working on music again on her own to minimize the risk of greater financial losses—if one week of solo shows got canceled, it would just mean she personally was put out, rather than four band members and five crew. But after decades of touring with a group, going back to just six strings and a voice—something she’d not done on a regular basis since her teens—took some finessing. “You feel afraid in the same ways, but again, a healthy fear,” she says.
“If the whole house burns down, if I can make it out with my acoustic guitar, worst-case scenario I’ll be busking on a street corner and hoping people throw change into the guitar case—but I can feed myself.”
“It’s an exercise in self-reliance,” she continues, “and it’s a comfort to always have that there. That’s what I think is beautiful about the acoustic guitar, is that you’re stripping it down to the bare minimum, and I know, ‘Okay, as long as I have that, I’m okay. If the whole fuckin’ house burns down, if I can make it out with my acoustic guitar, worst-case scenario I’ll be busking on a street corner and hoping people throw change in to the guitar case—but I can feed myself. That’s a comforting feeling. Those barebones tools as an artist; that’s self-reliance and that gives you self-confidence and self-esteem, and then you build from there.
”Plus, just like the modest recordings of early classic rock ’n’ roll songs, Hole in My Head never feels wanting in its simplicity. Grace notes that we don’t listen to Buddy Holly or Dion’s “The Wanderer” and wish there were more modern flourishes or a more discernible kick drum. The aesthetic works, and since she was going it mostly alone, it’s what Grace chased.
When it comes to acoustics, Grace prizes one criterion above all: Does it break strings?
Photo by Travis Shinn
Her coconspirator on the record wound up being Matt Patton, mentioned earlier, who provided bass and backing vocals for six songs. Grace had never met Patton before when he drove from Mississippi up to St. Louis in February 2023 for the sessions—X, then Twitter, brought them together in a moment of “total kismet,” says Grace. The two became fast friends, and Grace says the connection with Patton is her most cherished part of the album. “He took a total chance coming to St. Louis,” she says. “His contribution is immeasurable.” Patton returned the favor last December, hosting Grace for some sessions at his Water Valley, Mississippi studio.
“Those places that people refer to as ‘shithole’ cities, or the places where no one wants to be, I have this natural urge inside of me…. I’m like, ‘I dunno, maybe I want to go there.’”
Grace and Patton worked with engineer David Buzzbee at Native Sound, and Grace brought along four guitars to get the job done. Her all-black Yamaha LJ16 was—and still is—her acoustic of choice, a guitar with which she says she shares “a total soul connection. When it comes down to acoustic guitars, the thing that I’m most concerned about onstage is, ‘Does it stay in tune and does it break strings?’” she says. “That thing does not break strings, so I fucking love that guitar.”
Her 1963 Fender Jaguar and ’70s silver-panel Twin Reverb—both of which she bought off of original Heartbreakers drummer Stan Lynch—were in regular rotation, as was a handpainted Gretsch gifted to Grace from her longtime tattoo artist. Her signature blackout Rickenbacker 370 can be heard on the record, too. But no pedals at all were used, and the low-rent grit of “Hole in My Head” was coaxed not from Grace’s Twin, but from a Rickenbacker TR7, a dinky solid-state 1x10 amp. Grace remarks that she’s obsessed with making records with tiny amplifiers these days. “Maybe it’s cause the studio was upstairs, and I’m like, ‘Fuck, I don’t wanna carry a big amp upstairs,’” she chuckles.
Grace loves her new part-time homebase of St. Louis, Missouri, even though it’s not exactly a prime destination. That’s part of the appeal.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
Over a year on from her introduction to the city, Grace now feels a fairly legitimate affection for St. Louis. Unlike Chicago, which always overwhelmed her, St. Louis is manageable: You can get just about anywhere you need to be in 15 minutes, and rents haven’t spiked to unlivable levels the way they have in other cities. Grace fell in love with the city by bar-hopping, starting with the Whiskey Ring, right under Native Sound. Grace is sober, but that made bar-hopping all the more doable. She could slug nonalcoholic beers, then drive to check out another corner of town.
St. Louis is an underdog city, which endears it to Grace. “Those places that people refer to as ‘shithole’ cities, or the places where no one wants to be, I have this natural urge inside of me that if I hear someone talking about a place like that, I’m like, ‘I dunno, maybe I want to go there,’” she says. “Maybe it’s just a rebellion against the opposite of, that place that everyone else wants to go, I don’t want to go.”
YouTube It
Grace leads a rip-roaring acoustic set last summer in Southern California, captured here in stereo audio by a dedicated fan.
