The Deli Philly’s November Record of the Month: Romantic – Mannequin Pussy

Mannequin Pussy’s second LP, Romantic (Tiny Engines), opens without a shred of warning or restraint. Full throttle and in your face, the full-length’s initial statement, “Kiss,” is an anthem of self-care and self-acceptance, whose teeth sink deep into the spine of its listener. Brief but memorable, the song is delectably abrasive, fueled by heart and hunger.
 
The album’s title track, “Romantic,” is equally fierce, but more melodic. As frontwoman Marisa Dabice’s vocals rise above the tidal crash of swelling riffs and cymbals, it is difficult not to think of Courtney Love circa Live Through This or Kim Gordon’s angst-filled diction on “Drunken Butterfly”. The calm between “Romantic” and “Ten” is momentary before the fast-paced punk balladbarely a minute in length – unfolds, serving in a way as an energetic and impassioned prelude to the nostalgia-laden “Emotional High”. Straightforwardly heartfelt, Romantic’s third offering is like a valentine or text message never sent to the friend that you wish was more than a friend. “I wanted you to know that darling, if you’re lonely, you know what you gotta do, all you gotta do is call.” Dabice sings in a warm tone that later evolves into fervent screams during “Pledge”.
 
Mannequin Pussy’s ability to transition between melody and dissonance from track to track is mesmerizing, making the poppy hook of “Denial” as effective as the deliberate bombast of “Everything”. An audible coupling of yin and yang, Romantic captures the dark and light side of longing, passion, and love. “Anything,” a probable epilogue for “Everything,” is a grunge-y testament to intimacy and the elusive and ever-changing nature of desire.
 
“Meatslave One” and “Hey, Steven,” much like the songs that precede them, are anything but coy, confronting listeners with the directness of an unblinking and all-seeing eye. Ending with harmony-laden “Beside Myself,” Romantic’s final moments are much like its first – unshakably fervent and sincere. – Dianca London