Yesterday was the endurance test — hosting a barbecue at the house for 7 hours, then jumping ship for the Man Man show at Black Cat. They are now my all-time favorite performing band, and in between dodging asshole security and stage assists at Black Cat after someone apparently snitched about the smuggling of the grape soda with the 9 percent alcohol, Ansu and I fell in with the rest of the rambunctious centerstage crowd that was all smiles, to the point of breaking sweat for the first time since the Polysics played a crowded show in the back stage last year. The first to grace the stage was not actually a third opening band, but an emaciated guy who looked like he cut his hair with a switchblade, salvaging a lengthy rat tail. He put on a mask and told “art jokes,” which was mostly prop humor about sex and menstruation. But the highlight was Man Man, who should have been the opening act. Headliners Cursive must have been real disappointed when half the crowd at the sold-out show disbanded after Man Man took the stage, whaling like a big band interjected with a ton of energetic noise-making cacauphony and dressed like former tennis pros. We never stuck around to console them.