The UK rock band’s debut is a prime example of what happens when you grow up on Bikini Kill and the Slits.
The London-based rock band Dream Wife didn’t mean to be taken seriously when they formed. In 2014, guitarist Alice Go, bassist Bella Podpadec, and Iceland-born vocalist Rakel Mjöll started the group as an art project while studying at Brighton University; it was only later that what began with a This Is Spinal Tap-esque documentary evolved into an outlet for, in Podpadec’s words, “meditating on dreaming big and being a woman.” Despite that backstory, the subjects Dream Wife tackle on their self-titled debut—leering catcalls, ageist stereotypes, and what it means to be in control of your identity—are anything but jokes. At its best, Dream Wife is a prime example of what happens when you grow up on Bikini Kill and the Slits. A rebellious fire lights in your stomach, and you try to bite off more misogyny than you can chew just to prove that your teeth are sharp.
This is an album that proudly wears its influences on its sleeve. Along with those clear punk forebears, the band’s members have cited artists like Be Your Own Pet, Sleigh Bells, and Le Tigre, a traceable lineage if you listen closely. But some of the most revealing parallels come from New York City’s early-2000s rock revival. The unhinged shrieks in “Let’s Make Out” and “Hey Heartbreaker” reflect Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ sneering intensity, while Mjöll’s hushed singing voice on “Love Without Reason” channels the other side of Karen O. Countless clean guitar melodies pay homage to the Strokes, particularly on “Kids” and “Fire,” and Podpadec, who played bass for the first time during the band’s college years, steers the songs with the same quiet confidence as Nikolai Fraiture. Dream Wife made a name for themselves by performing intense live shows across Europe; you can hear how they’ve studied their idols’ delivery to translate that sound to the studio.
The most invigorating moments on Dream Wife come when Dream Wife bring personal anecdotes to the fore. On stand-out track “Somebody,” the trio confront rape culture by employing a perspective-shifting dialogue. “You were a cute girl standing backstage/It was bound to happen,” Mjöll sings before flipping to first person: “I took on heaven to find peace/I took on the world to find me again.” The song’s chorus—“I am not my body/I am somebody”—summarizes the double bind of feeling like you’re the sum of your body while simultaneously being stripped of ownership of it. It’s an affirmation they want to loan to listeners.
The counterpart to that narrative is “F.U.U.,” a post-punk tirade where Dream Wife sound eager to rip a person who wronged them to shreds. “I’m gonna fuck you up/Gonna cut you up,” Mjöll yells, hurling the words at a wall. Her voice sounds like it’s going to bleed from screaming itself raw, and Icelandic rapper Fever Dream whips through a laconic guest verse to back her up. It’s a menacing moment of someone deciding she won’t take your shit anymore, and hearing that intense feeling caught on tape recalls the music that put Karen O and Kathleen Hanna on the map years back.
Yet those two songs are outliers on this album. Elsewhere, Dream Wife too often stick to widely-known truths, like not letting age define your character (“Act My Age”) or the thrill of a new kiss (“Taste”). Shove those tame lyrics into the band’s repetitive formula of controlled verses into explosive choruses, and the effect can be dull. If their debut fails to offer a consistent, forceful message the way their riot grrrl heroes once did, they have at least figured out how to capture some of those predecessors’ energy. For now, Dream Wife leaves you revved up and ready to go with nowhere suggested.