Mannequin Pussy are inherently unforgettable. For starters, there’s the name, conjuring images of plastic clits and keeping the prudes away. (For me, I think of German surrealist Hans Bellmer’s doll project, a series of dismembered female mannequins arranged in fetishistic, voyeuristic, and ultimately unsettling manners). Then there’s the music itself, which summons a different type of terror. Beginning with their 2013 debut Gypsy Pervert, Mannequin Pussy have whipped up breakneck punk tornadoes with equally brutal names like “Meatslave.” But beneath that fury are tender confessionals about love, heartbreak, and trauma, which were explored more deeply on 2016’s Romantic.
On their third record, Patience, Mannequin Pussy have achieved a balance between seething chaos and quietly devastating vulnerability. Working alongside beloved emo producer Will Yip, Patience is their most expansive album yet, and not just because it’s their first to pass the 20-minute mark. Though some songs sprint by in under 60 seconds, most luxuriate in the amount of room they are now afforded. Intricate melodies that were once buried beneath sludge have been polished so that the glimmer shines through the grit. As exemplified by their journey, Mannequin Pussy—guitarist and vocalist Marisa Dabice, guitarist Athanasios Paul, bassist Colins Rey Regisford, and drummer Kaleen Reading—suggest that if patience is a virtue, then so is pop-punk.
Ironically, then, the stories on Patience demand urgency as Dabice struggles to extract herself from toxic relationships or attitudes. Sometimes Dabice’s body is not her own, either because someone has possessed it or she has temporarily dissociated for escape. She recounts this loss with unflinching candor, describing herself being pinned down, shoved against the sink, spit on, and objectified. “When you hit me it does not feel like a kiss like the singers promised,” she murmurs on “Fear + Desire.” Those words, so blasély sung by the Crystals in 1963, were just “a lie that was written for them,” a twisted logic we tell ourselves to survive.
The effect is radically complex, championing the ability for women to be weak and strong, fragile and larger-than-life, often at once. These contradictions are expressed in the title of “Fear + Desire,” which stretches violence into a forlorn expanse that ends in a blast of feedback. The subsequent “Drunk I,” on the other hand, jumps between throat-shredding rage and airy backing vocals so quickly that the song ends before the dynamic has a chance to settle. The biggest moment of catharsis arrives via the slow-burning “High Horse.” As Dabice painfully conjures the details of an abusive relationship—hot breath, a taste that lingers on the teeth—the subdued rhythm section winds tighter and tighter through ambient haze. Finally, her voice blasts off. “I fucked up,” she screams in an eruption of pain and regret. But as a final, crucial gesture of defiance, Dabice proudly reclaims her self-importance. “Your world’s on fire, as I watch up from my high horse/Your world’s on fire, and I walk away,” she howls. That last image, of Dabice calmly strolling away from the burning ruins, is delivered with a softness that lingers on long after the song itself.
Because what happens after you walk away? How do you unlearn self-hate and how do you begin to dismantle the systems that teach and uphold that behavior? This seems to be the part where patience is most crucial. On the gigantic, grungey lead single “Drunk II,” Dabice wrestles with the end of a relationship, drinking and partying to numb her pain. “I still love you, you stupid fuck,” she spits, exasperated and wistful. Finally, after much self-loathing, she comes to terms with heartbreak, realizing that on some level a breakup is an important expression of truth. “Cream” practically crawls out of its skin with pummeling harshness as Dabice promises to treat herself better. “Gonna feel love/I want it to be everything/And unlearn to be like that,” she sings before bursting into a torrent of enraged Spanish.
But even when Mannequin Pussy venture to truly dark places, Patience is such a pure joy to listen to. In its biggest moments, Dabice’s raw edge is matched by equally colossal riffs, explosive energy, and surging momentum. Patience, is without a doubt, one of the year’s strongest punk rock records. Mannequin Pussy prove that there is still so much untapped potential in the genre, and that the people who are doing the heaviest excavating are the ones most often overlooked.
As if to say that there is always light at the end of the tunnel, Patience concludes with some levity. On the hooky “Who You Are,” Dabice gives a pep talk to her younger self, her once scorched-earth attitude replaced by gentle empathy and a surge of gleeful power chords. The optimism pours over to closer “In Love Again,” a hopeful song about starting over and rediscovering the intoxicating thrill of new love. “I’m so happy/Laying here with you/I’m in love with you,” Dabice sings. Her voice fades away and a light congregation of handclaps and keys begin to soothe the wounds that were so raw in the album’s opener. Patience is never easy, but Mannequin Pussy make it worth it.
Buy: Rough Trade
