It’s one of those summers again when we pray for last year. Inflation is still kicking our asses, air quality is fluctuating amid wildfires, and it seems like the post-pandemic landscape in the world is begging for a rock review. The world tried to end, but if you’re reading this, then at least you survived. I think it’s better to thrive, and I think it’s easier with music.
Enter last year’s seminal rock album, Baby Wrestlemania, by Manhattan Murder Mystery. Last years? Yes, but what you must know, is the vinyl just dropped on Bandcamp, encouraging a deep listening. If you are unfamiliar with the concept of deep listening – stick around, listen between the lines, and hear the meaning in the feeling. In it, you can find solace in knowing you aren’t the only one suffering this year. Perhaps you may even find solidarity in knowing someone can yank heartstrings with great fucking art after the Bad Luck Blues keep raining down.
When Baby Wrestlemania dropped on digital download last year, I awoke to the notification. I played through the album, reminiscing track after track over hard-hitting tracks of their past albums. At the end I could not think of anything to do but play through it all the way again with a friend.
A month before the original release, the band dropped their official music video to the seventh track of the album, Bodybag. If there’s one thing you want to do when you catch their music, it’s catching live performances and music videos. The name gives it away. If one recalls the track from their self-titled album, I Always Think About Dying, this one will hit a familiar nerve. The upbeat guitar and fun video contrast sharply to the fact: It’s certain that we will all die one day sure, so why not sing about it?
Fans familiar with Matthew Teardrop’s work may recognize the opener: a hyped version of Artie Lange, which, until the new album, you could hear a little duo version of at a much lighter pace accompanied by a single. The energy injected into this classic had me lurched forward in my seat.
The familiar, sad lull of guitar at the outset of Imperial County nods to the title track from their 2012 album Women House, then springboards you into a longing love tale with an energetic sadness that pulls you in. The stories Teardrop tells in his songs are wild, but many of them come back to tales from his life traveling and songwriting from Virginia to California and between.
One thing you know about Teardrop if you know Manhattan Murder Mystery is his love of the squared circle and the elements of professional wrestling that influence his songs. The following track, Greensboro, is scheduled for one fall and is for the title of Heavyweight Wrestling Rock Hit of the World. Drive and hope in the face of impossible odds are what push the hero of this track to climb back up on that scaffolding again, “and hope that someday, someone remembers what I done.”
Strangers to east Los Angeles need a story to understand it. I have myself, never been. But I hear it can be bleak. If you lend your ear to East Hollywood Livin’, you’ll get the idea. Something to appreciate about the group is their willingness to open up old wounds and reveal the ugly side of what can happen in life sometimes. The harrowing thing is that Teardrop lived through the ugly side, and took something from that ugly, and turned it into a sad, but beautiful story.
For Virginians: Teardrop’s old stomping grounds of northern Virginia get a hat tip once in a while in songs like Backlick Road, and this album is no different. The second-to-last track, Me and Brittany, travels through its story like a fever dream consisting of what seem to be vaguely referencing his own life in parts. The riff that carries through the whole song has a happy and hopeful bounce to it accompanied by a tale that shreds your heart to pieces. Me and Brittany teases the title track which locked me in place to celebrate all song long until it was over.
“Try to find yourself a place to end up,” Teardrop sings, introducing the title track, Baby Wrestlemania, the last stop on this crazy taxi. The song is a gift of hope to Teardrop’s baby. His concern for passing on how to get through it all is the tearjerker you didn’t see coming after all is said and done. There is hope for belonging here, hope for a place. There is hope for love, and if there isn’t, at least take a cue from the album and don’t get stuck. I will confirm in the podcast whether he really named it Wrestlemania.
Coming soon to the site, I hope you’ll enjoy my latest podcast episode where I speak to Matthew Teardrop about his albums, stories, and some songs that don’t yet have a home on one of MMM’s albums. Until the podcast drops, get a deep listening done on Baby Wrestlemania, and play it loud.
Check out Manhattan Murder Mystery everywhere:
The Jim Jam 
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