On their fourth album, Mannequin Pussy achieve true, genuine catharsis via guitars.

9.0

Credit: Epitaph

An immensely rich and appealing experience, I Got Heaven is a deeply moving record that runs on dynamism.

It’s our first 9.0/10 of the year baby! That means it’ll be in contention for Album of the Year 2024.

Drop the vague descriptions of “emotional release” for a moment; when records like I Got Heaven turn up, it can often feel like reviewers can’t find anything concrete to hinge their views around. Hot, developed albums that dabble in punk and indie without anchoring themselves to a scene or moment in time. It’s a tricky way to make this sort of music, when so much of the respective histories of those genres traipse between big dates and political struggles.

But, just this last weekend, Mannequin Pussy’s fourth studio outing has had its penny-drop moment for me. Pangs in my chest when I think about its riffs. Sweat on my fingers when it swells with rage. Goosebumps when I bask in that magnificent production. This is true, genuine catharsis.

Out of the fuzz and scrabble coating much of the songwriting, clarity emerges as the album gets under your skin. Marisa Dabice is a godsend of a vocalist. One minute she’s a classic noughties indie sleaze front woman, cool demeanour matching the cool wardrobe she rocks on stage. The next, she screams with incandescent ardor, the final stitch in the band’s sound that pulls it all together. It’s no wonder I first heard about the album on Iggy Pop’s 6 Music show.

“…it’s dynamism that they both explore and exude, giving wild pace and life to their words of disjointed romance and trauma.”

For records of this sort of temper, I’ve often wanted some element to ground it in the times. Mannequin Pussy as a band do far more to convey that in themselves than they do in their music. In its place, it’s dynamism that they both explore and exude, giving wild pace and life to their words of disjointed romance and trauma. All of it flows just below the surface, never forcing you to feel a certain way and indeed affording you all manner of readings. I’ve found that multiple tracks have already evolved multiple times for me this year, each time becoming all the more astonishing.

That dynamism really cannot be underestimated, not only on an individual level within each track, but across the whole record. ‘I Don’t Know You’s admonishing tenderness is replaced by the thrash punk of ‘OK? OK! OK? OK!’ barely two cuts later. ‘Nothing Like’ would feel at home on a Hearstopper episode, whilst ‘Split Me Open’ would have done numbers on Fleabag. Never once does any of that range get overwhelming or out of hand; the band possesses a total command.

“The low frequencies grumble, the high frequencies are sharp, and everything in between thumps at your chest both emotionally and physically.”

Much of that is because what’s holding everything together are some superbly honed key components; stellar hooks, especially on those choruses and bridges; immaculate pacing that maintains a levity, despite how grungy the music often sounds; and finally, John Congleton’s knack for balance. The low frequencies grumble, the high frequencies are sharp, and everything in between thumps at your chest both emotionally and physically. While the songwriting isn’t in the same vein, it’s produced like a Noise Rock album, and that ticks every damn box for me.

Those two middle tracks are where every element really shines at its brightest. Right from that trickle of an opening guitar riff, all the way to the pain underpinning the torrent of its chorus, ‘Sometimes’ is a showcase of the finest and brightest of melancholia. ‘I Don’t Know You’, meanwhile, renders the true scale of its hurt and longing in harder and harder detail every time its verses are repeated. Try listening to that when you’ve got a train window to look out of and tell me it doesn’t hit.

“Not a moment of the record doesn’t feel like it comes from the heart, all of it intentional and genuine.”

I can be wary of albums that get lauded with vague descriptors, but perhaps it’s because so much of the experience of I Got Heaven comes in the feelings you can’t put into words. Not a moment of the record doesn’t feel like it comes from the heart, all of it intentional and genuine. Such an undercurrent ensures that when the moments that do truly deserve to be called “emotional release” – I’m looking at you, ‘Split Me Open’, you tear-jerking bastard – get to do their thing, it’s hard not to be compelled.

But it’s more than just compelling. What really makes this a truly moving album is how exorcised it leaves you after every listen. That, for me, is true catharsis via guitars. On I Got Heaven, Mannequin Pussy have made something immensely rich and appealing. A hugely accomplished and refined record in its songwriting and production that will have those who love the technicalities of great music in awe. And yet, at the same time, its 10 tracks will be delivering mosh pit after mosh pit on their current tour. Hint hint – they hit up the UK in June before playing Reading/Leeds at the end of August, and you’d be a fool not to go.

Score: 9.0/10

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