It happened twice this summer, I ran into Manhattan Murder Mystery’s frontman Matthew Teardrop, walking the streets of Silver Lake under the hot sun.
It happened again on Wednesday morning, he was wearing a black and red Manhattan Murder Mystery t-shirt, and he was carrying his back pack, that he never leaves, even when he plays a show! He looked like he had just woken up, totally out of place by this bright day, and functioning at slow pace. It is true that I always see him during the darkest hours, after midnight in the most opaque ambiance of the Echo, his head covered by a bandana, wearing a heavy hoodie, surrounded by friends and fueled by whiskey and beers. I am used to see him singing with his raucous growl his depressing gut-wrenching drunk anthems, which are always talking how drunk he is or how he wants to be buried. This guy simply cannot exist during daytime, he is a night howler, a dangerous-hour-party-drinker, a dark poet who shouts tales of despair and misfortune while drowning his pain in alcohol, and encouraging the most furious mosh-dancing in the crowd.
I crossed his path this morning and didn’t say anything, I should have said hello, and how much his visceral music gets me each time. May be next time.
I like this piece. Its all facts. You’re not trying to sell anyone anything here. “Just the facts Ma’am.” And I don’t know if you should have said hello or not. Sometimes the mystery is the thing. How Manhattan isn’t one of the most talked about bands on more national indie music blogs is a mystery in of itself.
Thanks! yes, I guess I didn’t have a real point,… Just another excuse to talk about this fantastic band.
ooops, of course, corrected! thanks
Not sure what your point is, but happy you are talking about one of the best artists/bands in LA right now.
You wrote: “a dark poet which shouts tales of despair.” Should wrote “a dark poet who shouts tales of despair.”
Errrm, uhhhh …shoulda