Andrea Dworkin argued that when the body has been colonized—violated—there’s no recompense, no recourse, no cure. Mandy, Indiana has something to say about that in their sophomore release, URGH. It’s a seething, unsettling, unpredictable rhythm/movement release, both hyperkinetic and for seconds soothing, without hooks, earworms, or hummable choruses. It’s an unleashing of fury about violence against women and about intimate partner violence.
I think Andrea would have approved.
Noise rock. Techno. Industrial. The OG-est of underground hip-hop Billy Woods delivers bars (No containing Mr. Woods). Early Nine Inch Nails is a close mainstream analogy (though nowhere near as raw and visceral); Fever Ray is a better, more recent, less mainstream neighbor (though nowhere near as frontal).
Mandy, Indiana began in the 20-teens as Gary, Indiana. The idea was to find a band name that would verberate with their concerns about urban and industrial decay. Valentine Caulfield, from Paris (and now Berlin), sings almost entirely in French. The band includes guitarist and producer Scott Fair, synth player Simon Catling, and drummer Alex Macdougall, spanning Manchester and Montreal. Fair recently told Brooklyn Vegan that other inspirations for URGH were movies: Alien, Eraserhead, The Craft, It’s What’s Inside and You’re Never Really Here.
As I listened to this release (eight times, at least, to write this review), I concluded that only one route to a review made any sense. It was the movie that unspooled in my head, over time, that is not the band’s movie, but the only clear-ish way to communicate the import of their efforts.
What follows is that fiction. Each song is identified, and with the song title, a 15,000-foot movie treatment is offered.
Fade in. A techno club in Barcelona. 2 a.m.
“Sebastopol”: Hundreds of people on the dance floor. Lights flashing, epileptic seizure inducing. Camera pans over the worming crowd, stops, looks down. Continues. The view is nauseating. Sweaty limbs. Crushing closeness. The drone hovers again, hones in: close up of two appealing—not gorgeous—20-somethings dancing in a group. The group of friends goes out weekly to release, and find. It’s a reliable group of eight to 12 friends. Drone focuses on just two. She and He. Psychoactive chemicals. Abandon. It’s a good night.
“Magazine”: He and She are no longer in the club. Alone, in a nondescript room, sex. Ferocious; feral. He brings She pa amb tomàquet in bed the next morning.
“Try Saying”: It’s three days later. She has been trying to get in touch with He. She leaves txts on his phone. We see three days’ worth. “Is this you?” she txts, over and over. How violent was it? Is there a “responsibility” here?
“Dodecadron”: We watch She wandering Barcelona with a series of friends, confidantes, family. Sagrada Familia. Picasso Museum. Casa Batlló & Casa Milà. Barceloneta. A pool hall in the third story of a commercial building. She’s conversations are both normal and elliptical; She’s interlocutors have their own stuff (mom in a nursing home, crappy boss, eviction, duplicitous mechanic, a cease and desist order from the Barcelona government to stop cutting down a tree).
“A Brighter Tomorrow”: He responds, asking to meet at Castellfollit de la Roca. It’s a cold and rainy day. An owl flies between them. They find a knife on the grounds with dried blood on it. He kneels and licks the dried blood. He offers the blade to She. She tries to rub off the blood.
“Life Hex”: She is light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. In the downpour, he moves her to a corner and fucks her.
“Ist Halt So”: Cut to He. The day after. A park. He feeds birds, squirrels, ducks. A woman in a wheel chair drops her purse and he retrieves if for her. He calls someone. He sobs on the phone. Images of Srebenica, Kigali, Phnom Penh, Darfur flash. He mouths, “I’m so powerless.”
“Sicko!”: It’s Greek Chorus time.
“Cursive”: Separate scenes of She and He. It’s three months later. She again walking Barcelona, with friends, family, confidantes. He, kind as always in the park.
“I’ll Ask Her”:
“This is a story about a boy, well, he’s a man really
But boys will be boys, you know how it is
And he’s a good mate and that, you’ve known him since school
He’s fun to party with
And in town you’ve heard some rumours
But you know how they run their mouths, these fucking bitches
And anyway, you stand by your boys ’cause they’re your boys
And that’s just how it is
“And they’re all fucking crazy, man
They’re all fucking crazy, man….
“You’ve heard about it for a while, this shit started in college
It’s been going for years
But what are you gonna do? Nothing’s ever come of it
They’re clearly trying to ruin him
And he tells these stories, some of them are funny
But some of them are pretty bleak
And you wouldn’t let him date your sister, but it’s different
It’s your sister
“They’re all fucking crazy, man…”
This is not background music. It’s not singer-songwriter concision. You either listen to it with 100 percent attention… or it’s a pass.
