It’s Friday night at the Oxford Art Factory in Sydney, and the room is buzzing with anticipation. The crowd is packed tight, a sea of eager faces waiting for Philadelphia punk powerhouse Mannequin Pussy to hit the stage for their very first Australian tour. Tonight’s stop on the I Got Heaven tour feels like a rare moment of convergence—Sydney’s indie faithful meeting one of the most fearless bands to emerge from the U.S. punk underground in the last decade.
Mannequin Pussy’s ascent has been nothing short of meteoric. With I Got Heaven, their fourth album, which was released earlier this year, the four-piece delivered a searing statement: 10 blistering tracks in just 30 minutes, oscillating between raw punk fury and moments of surprising melodic beauty. The album was recorded with Grammy-winning producer John Congleton, I Got Heaven is the sound of a band fully embracing their contradictions—ferocious yet tender, chaotic yet controlled.
“We’re supposed to be living in the freest era ever, so what it means to be a young person in this society is the freedom to challenge these systems that have been put on to us. It makes sense to ask, what ultimately am I living for? What is it that makes me want to live?” Marisa Dabice
When the lights dim and the band finally takes the stage, it’s all in. Marisa “Missy” Dabice strides forward, a commanding figure with her guitar slung low, and as the first notes hit, the crowd erupts. Backed by Colins “Bear” Regisford’s on bass, Kaleen Reading on drums, Maxine Steen on guitar and keys and providing tour support is multi-instrumentalist Carolyn Haynes, Mannequin Pussy unleashes a live sound that’s visceral-it hits hard.
About five songs in, Dabice steps up to the mic, and commands the room to shout out the word: “Pussy.” It’s not a mere provocation but a rallying cry. “Guys first,” she insists, “because it’s usually the guys who have a problem with the word.” There’s no apology in her tone, just a knowing jab at the unease that hangs around certain kinds of empowerment. The crowd answers her, all teeth and volume, hurling the word back at her like a badge of honour.
Later, as the set pushes deeper into its raw, communal energy, Dabice pauses to reflect, on how Australia is lucky because “it doesn’t have a Christo-fascist government.” The crowd cheers in agreement. An acknowledgment that the world outside is ever-encroaching, but for now, inside this space, there’s solidarity in the noise.
