MUNA have always been excellent at nailing light and dark; while the Los Angeles trio’s biggest song is the deliciously featherweight infatuation of ‘Silk Chiffon’, their finest work centres on broken hearts, uncomfortable tensions or dark, destructive shadows lingering just out of frame. One of MUNA’s best, 2017’s ‘I Know A Place’, was written following the previous year’s Pulse nightclub shooting, and feels fragile and under threat even as it celebrates the safety and euphoria of queer spaces. And lord help anybody masochistic enough to listen to ‘Stayaway’ while weathering a break-up: “No one ever told me leaving was the easy part,” lead vocalist Katie Gavin sings. “I’ve gotta stay away.”
The band’s fourth album ‘Dancing On The Wall’ – produced by MUNA’s very own Naomi McPherson – may conjure up plenty of euphoria, but it is also a product of the divisive, deeply fractured political times it arrives in. Both lyrically and musically, it is spikier and more restless than their previous work, drawing on flickers of glam rock and alternative indie alongside the much more familiar territory of saturated ’80s synthpop.
Even when it seems carefree, something ominous often lingers just out of shot – while ‘It Gets So Hot’ initially feels like it centres on all-consuming lust, the heat of Los Angeles is claustrophobic, humid and oppressive. Bouncy and upbeat, ‘Mary Jane’ alludes to a relationship wrecked by substance dependency. And the deliciously delusional ‘So What’ does its best to conceal its heartbreak behind free drinks at bougie parties, even if Gavin’s defences are soon shattered by the hollowness of it all. “The reviews that came in, the fangirls and harshest critics, are all in agreement,” she boasts of all the strangers who claim to love her, without really knowing her at all. “It’s our best work without you in it.”
At times, this is also the trio’s most overtly political work, not just dancing around the state of the world but spelling it out explicitly. With ‘Big Stick’, we meet an anonymous, suburb-dwelling mom who steadily accrues wealth and unquestioningly pays taxes to a war-waging machine in the hope of an easy, quiet life. Gavin’s chorus plays the part of a Big Brother-esque dystopian figure keeping things calm on the airwaves, but by the bridge, the rug has been pulled. “America gives more than America takes / We give weapons to dictators in apartheid states,” she chants, “We give kids in Palestine PTSD / But we’ll never fucking ever give them something to eat.” Gavin’s words are so blunt that it sadly feels refreshing, in a realm where few other pop artists are addressing a genocide this overtly.
While ‘Dancing On The Wall’ does tread newer ground lyrically on songs like ‘Big Stick’, and at times dabbles with heavier, rock-influenced sounds, it also doesn’t divert too far away from the hyper-saturated synthpop sound the band have nailed since day one. And in MUNA’s world, precise, irresistible consistency can be just as compelling as constant reinvention.
