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“To be female,” singer and guitarist Marisa Dabice just lately stated, talking traditionally and contemporaneously, “is profane.” If Dabice and her bandmates celebrated that profanity over a decade in the past after they christened their band Model Pussy, their new album, I Received Heaven, is a bacchanal. It’s a mouthy, messy, confident document that seeks out conventions primarily to taunt them—style and social conventions, certain, but additionally the traditional knowledge that claims the fragile flower of a girl’s need wilts if faraway from its man-made greenhouse. Like Gap’s Stay By way of This, maybe its closest antecedent, it revels in its most uncomfortable contradictions. It reveals its ugliest face, and it all the time comes out on prime. It’s laborious to think about an indie-rock document higher suited to the second.
There may be nothing on I Received Heaven just like the slick romantic catharsis of “Drunk II,” the instant-classic single from the band’s 2019 album Endurance. “I nonetheless love you, you silly fuck,” Dabice sings to cap the primary verse. That line grew to become one thing just like the band’s calling card, whether or not wittingly or not, the form of punchline you spend a whole live performance ready to scream again. It’s susceptible, virtually affectionate, however its energy depends on the protagonist’s feeling beholden to another person in opposition to her needs, if not her will. The silly “fucks” on I Received Heaven, in the meantime, come from the act of fucking itself, skilled gleefully by folks keen to threat their independence and self-sufficiency if it means getting theirs. When Dabice sings, “Rewind your self, get me off, make me really feel so elite,” it’s principally inconceivable to think about her ever singing “Drunk II” once more.
I Received Heaven is at its finest when Model Pussy giggle their well beyond feeling conflicted. Within the title observe, Dabice is a canine panting on the knee of a stranger, equally able to chew or hump relying on how issues go. By the point the refrain comes round, although, she’s virtually cooing. “Oh, I’m an angel,” she sings, “I used to be despatched right here to convey you firm.” It’s not a negation of the fantasy—within the very subsequent verse, she wonders aloud what it might be like if “Jesus himself ate my fucking snatch,” her voice almost breaking right into a moan—however an acknowledgment that even a girl enjoying the dominant hornball position nonetheless has to navigate the lads who suppose the entire thing is their reward.
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