Mannequin Pussy is starting a church of their own. As The Crocodile filled out with trendy teens and seasoned hardcore vets alike, an excited murmur overtook the room. With hands clasped in mock prayer, lead singer Marisa Dabice led the crowd in what felt like a hardcore sermon: a counter-cultural corrective to all the bullshit that led the group’s fans to connect with their music in the first place. It was divine.

It’s no surprise, then, that the band’s most recent album and tour name reflects this divinity. Released this past March, I Got Heaven marked Mannequin Pussy’s true star turn. It’s an album packed to the brim with punk-meets-indie-rock bangers both personal and political, cementing Dabice’s status as patron saint for the world-weary. Blasting their songs in my headphones at full volume is one thing; hearing them live, at chest-rattling decibel levels, is a far more transcendent experience. With a decade of performing under their belts, Mannequin Pussy has become a well-oiled punk rock machine, doling out anthem after anthem with an effortless swagger.

Thanks to some clever live arrangements, crowd pleasers hit even more pleasingly. “Drunk II”, the band’s calling card, was delivered with a shoegaze-y gauziness that drove home the lyrics about drinking to forget. “Sometimes'' gave each member of the band a moment to shine, spotlighting some glossy guitarwork and punchy, roiling drums. Dabice’s performance served as the captivating centerpiece, as she barked and belted her way through each track, before quieting a riled-up audience with nothing but the gravity of her singing voice. The set was immaculately paced, too. The first half comprised an indie rock romp through the more palatable (but no less worthy) hits in their discography, before giving way to a punk rock explosion of all their more bombastic tracks. Naturally, headbanging abounded. 

Keeping in line with the ethos of punk as a genre, Mannequin Pussy has always been about more than just the music. This tour brought that emphasis on community to the forefront. As a staple of their live shows, Dabice leads the crowd in a group scream, a moment of collective catharsis. This time, however, she prefaced the scream with an all-too-necessary call to action for the people of Palestine, highlighting exactly what punk can and should do: galvanize. Speaking for myself and the crowd at large, one thing became apparent – we needed that release. Mannequin Pussy remains an exemplar of an increasingly successful indie band with integrity, and it did not go unappreciated. 

I couldn’t help but feel emotional watching Dabice assume her rightful role as soothsayer for an eager audience of young people. What could easily have been nothing more than a show peppered with trite punk-rock platitudes became so much more. For every adage Dabice purred at the audience, the band backed them up with anthems in which one could really feel what she was trying to say. “This one goes out to your god-fearing parents, to anyone who has ever tried to make you feel ashamed,” she snarled before launching into “I Got Heaven”, the band’s tenderpunk manifesto. She belts out: “What if Jesus himself ate my fuckin’ snatch?” Religion be damned, Mannequin Pussy has all the heaven you need.

Mannequin Pussy doesn’t have the solution to all our woes. But they do have one power, one they know how to wield well: the power of catharsis, of letting go, and returning all the more steeled.

Check them out on socials:

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