A joyful combination of chart fizz and explosive, headbanging rock
‘And breathe.” In the middle of a fiercely exuberant gig in a densely packed London club, American trio Muna called time out for a communal breathing exercise. Singer Katie Gavin had spoken about anxiety attacks. Her band mates rallied around and, for the next 60 seconds, three women inhaled and exhaled in the spotlights, while the audience sympathetically followed suit. Amplified breaths sighed over the sound system. It was a strange moment of calm, like a yoga class breaking out in the middle of a rave. Afterwards, Gavin laughed giddily. “Music is cool but have you ever seen something like that?” Whereupon the trio swiftly got back to the business of absolutely slaying it.
Muna are a great little band, with the potential to become something much bigger. The Los Angeles trio released debut album About U in 2017, attracting a small but dedicated UK following for their sleek electropop. Second album, Muna Saves the
World, came out last Friday but already everyone in London’s Village Underground seemed to know all the words, responding as if they were being treated to a greatest hits set. Muna could not conceal their joy at the noise and energy of the crowd, breaking out into spontaneous giggles between songs. “How strange it is to laugh at such sad songs,” noted Gavin. “That’s what music can do.”
Bittersweet might be a better description. Gavin is a forensically
acute lyricist whose songs examine personal challenges with fierce honesty, yet she is determined to wring positives from even the darkest emotions. It creates a quality of tension and release between Muna’s intense, conversational verses and explosively anthemic choruses.
Muna are a very on-trend band: female, gay and rebelliously outspoken, their radio friendly hooks glistening with shiny synths and digitally treated vocals. Yet there is something old fashioned about the accomplished instrumentalists Josette Maskin and Naomi Mcpherson, who favour guitars on stage (laid over pre-recorded keyboard tracks). A male rhythm section of rocky drums and bass bring muscular heft, with lead guitars scaling up to create an atmospheric wall of sound while the headbanging trio toss their hair like they are trying to stir up a mosh pit. Gavin’s keening, folky voice cuts through the mix with clarity, ensuring her lyrics land emotional punches. This is music that sits comfortably alongside the chart fizz of Taylor Swift and Harry Styles (with whom Muna toured in 2017). Yet they have the power, conviction and gang-like cohesiveness of a classic rock band. I kept being reminded of REM’S blend of tenderness and swagger, with complex ideas folding into power pop choruses. Perhaps this is the feminisation of rock that the genre has been crying out for, touchy-feely but tough, unapologetically poppy but with the heavy punch that makes rock unbeatable live.
This audience of 700 early adopters certainly seemed to think so, responding to every song as if it was speaking directly to them. “I’m so happy, I’m crying,” admitted a visibly overwhelmed Gavin. Muna might not save the world, but they look well placed to conquer it.