First things first, repeat after me as loud as you’re comfortable… ready…
Pussy. Pussy. PUSSY!
We’re going to be saying pussy a lot, you’ve been warned.
This story starts about two years ago as I was heading home from a record store sprint with the one and only Bookie. We coped with the traffic by playing a game of finding bands with the funniest, weirdest, or most obnoxious names. We were at the tail end of a song by the Muslims (check them out, link on bottom, pretty good) when Bookie giggles at the name of the next band recommended, Mannequin Pussy. Of course, we had to take a listen.
This was before the release of their fifth studio album I Got Heaven so we got a healthy dose of songs from two of their previous albums Patience and Romantic. The songs Drunk II, Patience, and Romantic delivered a stiff dose of raw emotion packaged in an awesome punk rock sound. We were hooked. Fast forward a couple years and one failed attempt to see them live in Fort Worth, we got another opportunity in October 2024 at the Lowbrow Palace near downtown El Paso.
Opening is Margaritas Podridas (which translates from Spanish to Rotten Daisies) is an emerging trio that call Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico home. They’ve enjoyed some international success, reaching ~44k monthly Spotify listeners, but insist on staying true to their roots. Despite a few English language songs, the majority of their lyrics are in Spanish.
Lead singer and bassist Carolina Enriquez is tiny in stature but unapologetically dominates the stage, imposing her will on the crowd. I met her briefly as I was taking a peek at their merch and couldn’t believe the somewhat timid, quiet, and polite young lady (I can say young lady now that I’m over forty, them’s the rules) just got done beating the dog piss out of my eardrums for the entirety of the solid 40-ish minute set. Lead guitarist Esli Meuly has somewhat of a subdued presence on stage, appearing stylishly disgusted at how great of a musician he is. The mastery he has over his axe as he smothers the crowd with wave after wave of grungy reverb and distortion is truly impressive. The chemistry between he and Carolina is palpable. With just a glance and a nod, the two effortlessly deliver the hungry crowd a perfect mix of grunge, shoegaze, and post-punk. The blur behind the tubs is Rafael Armenta, who beats them like a man possessed. His range is impressive, flawlessly transitioning between light and friendly to straight up murderous in a blink. The trio were outstanding, their studio recordings did no justice to their live performance for me.
Mannequin Pussy is a quartet that hails from Philly, PA and draws ~600k monthly Spotify listeners. They started their I Got Heaven tour in early April and have been touring seemingly nonstop. To put their work ethic into context, this concert in El Paso on October 7th was their 74rd show of the year with 23 more scheduled to close out 2024. Absolutely. Insane.
Taking the lead is the fearless Missy Dabice, whose vulnerability on stage is everything but a weakness. In between pouring her heart and soul out through her painfully intimate and candid lyrics, Missy engages the crowd with her very honest assessment of the state of our society, touching on topics such as feminism, toxic masculinity, hypocrisy in religion, and the oppression of the LGBTQ+ community. Sprinkle in support for a free Palestine and accountability for those responsible for the atrocities committed, suffice it to say that Mannequin Pussy refuses to shy away from the most polarizing issues plaguing our world today. Punk rockers to the core. To her left is bassist Bear Regisford, currently the only male member of Mannequin Pussy and the only dude I know that can pull off the colorful suit sans shirt. He takes the mike for a couple of songs and completely obliterates the crowd. At guitar is Maxine Steen and drums are covered by Kaleen Reading. Touring with them is Carolyn Haynes who provides support during live performances.
Throughout the show, Missy monologues about a topic that is very important to me. Toxic masculinity. At one point, encouraging all the men in the crowd to scream pussy several times and touching on how harmful such a silly term can be. For those who need context, the word pussy in our current vernacular, especially those of the more hypermasculine corners of our society, is a negative term indicating some form of cowardice, generally on the part of a male member of said community.
This term, the word pussy, in my opinion has caused more harm to men and boys than any other word in our vernacular. Any display of emotion, vulnerability, or conscience is swiftly met with this term. Men or boys who ask for help, threaten self harm, or display anything that meets the toxic masculine definition of weakness relegates them to something that is less than manly. Less worthy than those who perpetuate the harmful tenets of toxic masculinity.
Full disclosure. I have used the word pussy. I have used the term in vulgar and sexual connotations. I have used it to shame other men. I am not perfect, I am not proud. Honestly, I’m ashamed. I don’t like that version of myself. But what has saved me is growth. We as men must grow. We must grow out of this honestly really dumb idea of what a MAN is. We, as men, must embrace our vulnerability.
One of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life was being a pussy and talking about my trauma. I was in a bad, bad place. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t go certain places with my family. But most of all, I couldn’t escape the unending flashbacks and nightmares that had me on the brink of crisis for years. At my wit’s end, after speaking with my psychiatrist and therapist, I agreed to something called Prologued Exposure. Essentially, I agreed to retell the trauma I experienced, in excruciating detail, over and over and over and over and… you get the idea. What I saw, what I heard, what I felt, what I smelled, what I tasted. Repeat. I had homework which consisted of doing the innocuous things that terrified me. Sitting with my back to the door. Standing at this one corner of our IKEA where people were approaching from both directions. Listening to a certain song. Touching meat with my bare hands.
It takes courage to be a pussy. Before this crucial turning point in my journey, I was a MAN that cried when a certain song came on the radio or when I saw emergency lights dancing off the pavement. I would begin panicking if I got that red juice from raw meat on my hands. I was a MAN afraid of doors. But in my mind at the time, I was a MAN because I didn’t talk about it.
The truth is being a MAN made me a coward. Being a pussy made me the man I am today. Being a pussy probably saved my life. What I learned is in a MAN’s world, it’s better to be a pussy.
-Midlife Mayhem
