Since their inception in 2012, Durham, England punk poppers Martha have existed as a collective effort between Nathan Stephens-Griffin (drums), Naomi Griffin (bass), JC Cairns (guitar) and Daniel Ellis (guitar). The four share vocal and writing credits in a fashion that reflects their collective DIY, anarchist, vegan politics. Martha’s 2014 debut LP Courting Strong received positive praise for its autobiographical accounts of underdog outsiders told through extremely catchy hooks, anthemic outpourings, and plainspoken honesty. Perhaps most critical to Martha’s success on Courting Strong, and now on their sophomore effort Blisters in the Pit of My Heart, is their effortless fusion of pop and politics. It’s a relief to hear a record that acknowledges our disappearing freedoms and is still fun. Rather than leaving listeners exhausted with ideas, Blisters offers fodder for critical thought that can be digested while pogoing. As Stephens-Griffin explained in an interview, “We do politics, but we play pop.”
A fine example of this is “Goldman’s Detective Agency,” which goofily reimagines early 20th century anarchist Emma Goldman as a private investigator. Its initial goofiness (gumshoe is too underused as a synonym for detective) is suddenly crushed by a quiet blow delivered over twinkly guitars: There is no one I can trust/And the cops are so corrupt/All protected by the politicians/In these wicked cults.” “St Paul’s (Westerberg Comprehensive)” is a story about queer students at catholic school. The Paul in question, however, is the of the holy Replacements sect and the fear described is much more intimate than the misuse of government. Inspired by Let it Be song “Androgynous,” “St. Paul’s” highlights individuals who defy the norms placed on them by society. Again and again, Martha remind us that love unjustly deemed dangerous by institutions like the church is ultimately a powerful tool of hope.
A political edge continues to line Blister’s more overtly romantic songs. In the careening “Christine,” memories of a “passion forged under a four pound box of wine” are poignant enough to last through an imminent nuclear war. For Martha, happily-ever-after looks like something out of “Love and Rockets” (“It’s the story of/A lonely kid who fell in love/When you spray painted ‘ACAB’ on the wall/Of the local village hall,” they sing on “Curly and Raquel.”) Blister’s most stirring moment arrives on “Ice Cream and Sunscreen,” which is at various moments across its brief two minutes, desolate, self-critical, and dangerously swept away and distracted by unrequited love. After an initial intro told over quiet guitars, passion suddenly explodes like fireworks and the narrator loses all anxiety in a fit of power chords. Martha are negotiating the intersections of reality and emotionality, and sometimes their idealism swells and spills over the brim. At times it may feel cheesy, or like “naive romantic shite” as they say at one point, but in the end, it’s honestly comforting.
