Manna. Blessed manna from heaven. Blessed be. Mine ears can hear the glory, from the opening notes through every crooked millisecond, of why our sweet Meatsters went for the religious title on their newest magnum opus. A work of unparalleled, uncompromising heavenly beauty, all the beauty in the world which includes Thelonious Monk's Ugly Beauty (no, no, there's not a cover of it here, just the idea). The question is, given the title of the record, why didn't they release it in time for Xmas? Wouldn't this have made the ideal gift for every music fan this holiday season (or for every fan of fucked-up music)? Well, they did release the single all the way back in November with a tres cool Red Red Residents treatment of 'The Grinch Who Stole Xmas's 'Welcome Christmas' on the Bside (go and get it now if you ain't got it already). And it will only take a second to figure releasing the record after Xmas appealed to their sense of skewed traditionalism (skrewed traditionalism?).

Red Red Meat have been around for a long time now. Roughly incorporated in 1990, RRM were born and bred in a Chicago petri dish. A petri dish made in Chicago, of Chicago, and even germinated in the same late 80s, early 90s scene that put Chicago (back on) the map, but no Smashing Chicago Issue Urge tags will stick here, well, except for the Billy Corgan/Tim Rutili duet on Sweet Relief II as the pair collaborated to great effect covering Vic Chesnutt's Sad Peter Pan. Rising Venus-like out of the Windy-City foam, RRM have perennially been a dark star on the Chi-town celestial map. By virtue of embracing and celebrating their uniqueness, RRM are in a state of continual evolution, much to the delight of music critics and consumers everywhere.

Trying to get a handle on their unique blend of timely and timeless, rootsy and futuristic musical stylings has inspired labellings as diverse as 'bluesy, woozy, Stonesy, (Neil) Youngsy, Grateful Deadly, and Youthful (as in Sonic).' Uh-huh. All true but also equally false. For a time most have stuck but eventually the tags slip and ooze off the mark. Vive le difference!

The 1st self-released eponymous album did bear more than a passing resemblance to a Rolling Stones RnR feel with an upbeat Chicago Rock (if such a thing exists) approach. Jimmywine Majestic, their 2nd release and Sub Pop debut, held some of the Stones tag but an appetite for deconstruction had begun to lead them to rootsier and more improvisational pastures. Which leads us straight into Bunny Gets Paid, and the third time is/was the charm. Critically lauded as their finest effort, this Bunny earned every penny as the band had fully shed any Stonesy remnants and have scarcely looked back. Make no mistake, you'll find no babies floundering in their tossed-off bath-water. Appropriately enough, the record was best described by lead Meatster, Tim Rutili, when he explained that the recording was aimed at 'hitting a mark somewhere between Fleetwood Mac's Rumours and Miles Davis' 'A Tribute to Jack Johnson'. Bullseye.

Tim retained that Appolonic approach, and accuracy, when it came time to record There's A Star Above The Manger Tonight. This time out, the stated intention was to 'synthesize a field recording (a la Alan Lomax's Folkways recordings et al.) with a Can aesthetic' (canaesthetic, anyone?). Rutili's proclamations of scientific musical alchemy may seem didactic (or even pretentious) at first, but not since D Boon left this earthly realm have they rang so true or so pure. Ably assisted and abetted by longtime cohorts, Brian Deck, who provided in-band producing and engineering services (a proud first for the band), and Tim Hurley, who flexed previously unexplored computer mettle for the release (the 'qwerty' reference below), any 'too many cooks-' references will be out of place here. Erstwhile gourmand, Ben Massarella, was on hand providing perfect pepperings of his intuitive found-sound artifacts at just the right time(s) as well.

Lest you should be daunted in the presence of such lofty ambitions, rest easy pilgrims, because our favorite erotic masseurs of rock don't want to hurt you, they just want to have some fun. You don't need a map or a scorecard to get lost and lifted in their aural ministrations, RRM want everyone to draw their own conclusions (or even none at all). On the same tip, a guided tour through the songwriter's prism of impressions and intentions can be most enlightening and endearing (be sure to check out some of the more complete interviews contained in the press kit). When was the last time you listened to a record that drew inspiration from the likes of 6th grade bullies (Paul Pachal), Howard Hughes (Airstream Driver), horse-racing (All Tied), dancing Mexican transvestites (Just Like An Egg On Stilts), or marijuana/olive branch/steam room hijinks (Chinese Balls)? Sounds like a shoe in the washer, or is that the dryer? Sounds like both, sometimes, and not at all.

With each song, and each album, more mysterious and beautiful than the last, Red Red Meat are proving to be the most sublime and graceful (albeit a little bit crazy), band of the 90s. Hell yes, we give thanks, and praise, praises be, for every slice of Red Red Meat. Amen.

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