I would expect to hear Man Man's music after tripping down some stairs and tumbling into a dim Eastern European cabaret, the pit orchestra all the while throwing hot irons at their cellos as a trio of circus performers yell Ezra Pound verse into a broken microphone. I would not expect to hear it anywhere else. It is simply too weird.

Free jazz, freak folk, superhero theme songs, pan-seared blues, imploding show tunes, swanky lounge, fluttering layers of guitars, thumping Memphis soul, howling wolves, blaring horns, twinkling pianos; it's all there on Six Demon Bag, the nightmarish semi-masterpiece by Philly's Man Man. It is music for people who really like music, and are also insane.

But don't let your own mental stability discourage you from embracing Man Man; if you're ready for Man Man, they are ready for you. The 40-odd minutes of Six Demon Bag are as cheekily nutty as they are gloriously enjoyable. And though Man Man is very much off their collective rocker, there haven't been many whacked-out, symphonic crazy-pop records this easy to swallow in a long time. You could listen to Six Demon Bag once and wonder whether you should worry that these Man Men have been skipping their meds. You could listen to it three times and scream along to half of it. And you could listen to this a thousand times and still not hear everything Man Man's trying to do. That's a mark of true genius.

Like a street-corner derelict, Man Man will continue its ranting and raving whether or not you're paying attention. But unlike that crazy-pants with the sandwich board yelling about the end of the world, you'll actually want to hear what they have to say. In some other, better universe, the indescribable Man Man is pop music, and nobody's ever heard of James Blunt.

Grade: A-

-- Reviewed by Paul Thompson