Mannequin Pussy – Patience

It’s been several years since I’ve gotten excited about a record on Epitaph – a label that’s seemingly doubled down on a commercialized strain of American punk tailored to the Vans Warped Tour demographic. I may need to revisit that assessment, however, after hearing the powerhouse that is Patience, Mannequin Pussy’s third and best album.

The Philadelphia band has been growing musically as well as numerically over the past eight years. Originally a two-piece, vocalist Marisa Dabice and Athanasios Paul – who eventually migrated from drums to very prominent guitar – have gradually added two more players and tightened their act. The pieces were all in place by 2016’s quite solid Romantic, but along with a higher profile label Patience also announces grander ambitions.

Dabice’s suddenly more confident voice – no longer shrouded in effects – emerges as a major weapon, and the quartet deploys it across a broader sonic range. Radio-ready tracks like “Drunk II” and “Who You Are” could conceivably slide onto a Paramore playlist, albeit with more bite. On the other end of the spectrum, the brief but raging “Drunk I” and “F.U.C.A.W.” prove they can thrash it up as well as another occasionally perfect Pussy-themed band.

The Mannequins also up the ante on a pair of atmospheric downtempo tracks, which afford Dabice’s already provocative lyrics a wider berth alongside Paul’s shoegaze guitar tones. She goes brilliantly meta on the simmering “Fear/+/Desire,” dryly intoning, “And when you hit me, it does not feel like a kiss/ Like the singers promised/ It was just a lie that was written for them.” After reestablishing their punk bona fides the band unapologetically rides a piano hook on closer “In Love Again,” which plays like a rollicking Jersey classic in waiting.

MP’s recent Masquerade stop, only the second night of their Patience tour, happily saw the band favoring its rawer DIY side. Dabice was a force of nature – though I fear for her vocal cords after weeks of van life and such full-on belting. They deftly straddled approachability with rock moves seemingly designed for festival stages. The color-coordinated Dabice’s floor writhing toward set’s end was rather discomforting – intentionally, I think.

Unfortunately, there are plenty of examples of gritty, winning bands careening over the cliff when their aspirations get the best of them (see also: Gaslight Anthem, The; and Me, Against). I have my concerns that Mannequin Pussy will eventually join this list. Here and now, however, Patience captures them at a positively sublime crossroads.

Mannequin Pussy
Patience
[Epitaph]