I want to do what I want to do with my life in a very uncompromising way.’” “I was like, ‘There’s a chance I won’t live very much longer. “On a very molecular level, I think it changed my entire life,” she says. Martens and Marc Jacobs Drop New Collab Starring Yves Tumor - Here’s How and Where To Buy Onlineĭabice’s memory of her teen years is a little blurry, since she was diagnosed with a rare form of soft-tissue cancer right around the same time she was thinking about starting a band with some friends. Regisford and guitarist-synth player Maxine Steen, 33, both work for moving companies, lugging furniture all over Philly whenever the band is off the road.ĭr. Until very recently, drummer Kaleen Reading, 31, was earning $15 an hour by working as a public-safety officer at a boarding school she now makes ends meet by giving drum lessons and teaching at the School of Rock. Dabice drives around her adopted hometown of Philadelphia in a 2001 Saturn that looks like it’s held together with duct tape. It’s a level of success that would have all but guaranteed big money flowing their way if Mannequin Pussy were a rock band in the Nineties. over the past few years, and huge buzz in the music press. Performances like this are a big part of what has earned the group a fiercely loyal cult following throughout the U.S. Regisford’s entire body pulsates with energy, and Dabice stalks the stage like a feral fusion of Patti Smith and Iggy Pop, belting out painfully personal songs like “Perfect” (“Kiss all my holes/Call me a bitch”). Once their set begins and the adrenaline starts pumping, everything changes. “We’re pushing ourselves to the absolute limit of what we’re capable of.” “The routing on this tour is not meant to be kind to the human body,” says Marisa Dabice, 36, the group’s co-founder and lead singer. They’re here to talk about their new LP, I Got Heaven (out March 1), which incorporates synths into their sound while sticking firmly to their punk roots, but bassist Colins “Bear” Regisford, 37, isn’t saying much, since he appears to be at least half asleep. They slump down on a dressing-room couch, surrounded by piles of luggage, coffee mugs, a carton of Marlboro cigarettes, and a sad little Hormel platter of pepperoni and hard salami. They’ve spent the past month crammed together in a Ford Transit van, putting roughly 5,200 miles on the dashboard and playing practically every night. But the four members of the punk band are unable to focus on much right now besides their desperate desire to get some rest. A long line of fans is already stretching down the block, waiting for the doors to open. It’s a little more than three hours before Mannequin Pussy take the stage at Brooklyn Steel in front of a near-capacity crowd.
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