Joanna Gruesome have a story. Their music is like watching a Lisa Frank-obsessed six-year-old throw champion punches on the playground, their beliefs are too tough to shake, and their friendship is too solid to thaw. Now that the five-piece UK-based band—guitarist/singer Owen Williams, singer Alanna McArdle, bassist Max Warren, guitarist George Nicholls, and drummer David Sandford—just cracked into their twenties, they’re taking the music world by storm, however tiny their thundercloud may be.
The five met in musical therapy after being sent to anger management courses for misbehaving in school. “We totally hated each other [at first],” says Williams, but a mutual love of riot grrrl, hardcore, and C86 influences dissolved tensions instantly. As such, they spent a month writing material at The Hell House, a sleazy hotel with frequent Ouija board use (“I think my memories may have been erased.”) and occult rituals, right after they got out of therapy.
With their debut album, Weird Sister, came insight into the power of word of mouth, the stress of staying D.I.Y., and the ever-dooming swords of a vicious industry. “I’m interested by the rhythms and pacing of hardcore, as well as some of the vocal elements, but basically I’m just really into pop melodies and structure,” says Williams of their sugary chaos, then rattling off a pension for ‘80s DC hardcore, ‘60s girl groups, and Taylor Swift. His relatively-newfound obsession with comic books has made an appearance in some of their songs’ lyrics, and, as he notes, it’s worth shouting out. “There’s definitely a renaissance period going on,” he says, “especially amongst small press and DIY scenes with Alison Bechdel, Lisa Hanawalt, Rose Robbins, and Jon McNaught.”
Since they each now live in a different part of the UK post-anger management, it’s difficult for them to write songs as a unit. Williams, as the primary songwriter, jots down his guitar part and lyrics before traveling to visit the others to see how the song takes shape. McArdle makes the most additions to his work, tossing in new lines that work best as screams, like the terrifying “I dream of pulling out your teeth” in “Secret Surprise.” This combination of the sensibility of pop and the vivaciousness of hardcore is what makes their sound so easily digestible. It’s easier to introduce a listener to dissonant chords and slashing drum beats when they’re following along with a bouncy pop structure.
Recent splits with Trust Fund and Perfect Pussy have Joanna Gruesome touring nonstop, and their noisepop sound means they’re billed liberally. It’s convenient, for the group look to provide a safe space within punk, and, given their sound volume, general health, and level of sobriety, to create a high-energy escape from reality for those who need it.
Joanna Gruesome’s persistence in wiping away the “twee” label, however, is something they’ll continue to swat at the longer it shows up next to their name. It’s often used to describe female-fronted bands that are fragile and airy. Sexism, especially in a form like that, doesn’t get called out enough because most are willing to ignore it for the sake of ease.
They combat misogyny in the music industry on a day to day basis, enduring a never-ending battle against stress, dangers, and the time constraints of true change. “It’s normally a small percentage of losers on the internet who reply with sexist comments or start debating about semantic nonsense, but obviously those people justify the need for loud feminist voices,” says Williams. “They make you realize that it’s easy to start living in a bubble and forgetting that shit is basically the norm. I’m speaking from a position of privilege here, too, and haven’t experienced it firsthand.” Touring with others who won’t let the patriarchy win—namely this east coast stretch with Perfect Pussy, Potty Mouth, and Love of Everything—usually helps.
Meanwhile, Joanna Gruesome are trying to uphold the D.I.Y. aesthetic, both mentally and literally, but the internet has been equally positive and confusing for D.I.Y. scenes. “I grew up with the internet and can’t imagine not using social media to promote shows, speak to bands, or run a D.I.Y. record label. On the other hand, the whole strange world of online PR and press can be a bit of an ethical minefield,” says Williams. “I’d admit that you could not call us a truly D.I.Y. band, simply because our labels… but we try to retain as much control and responsibility as possible make sure that anyone who does do something for us is someone we trust both ethically and in terms of taste.”
As for the name? Most of the group likes Joanna Newsom, and their moniker was chosen back when they thought of themselves as a joke band who would put out a few 7”s at most. “I think she knows about us,” says Williams of Newsom, although they have yet to be mailed a cease and desist letter. “Honestly, I’ve gotten to the point now where I’ve completely forgotten that the name is a shitty pun.” Terrible or not, it makes for a memorable name – that is until the first listen. Then their music makes a name for itself all on its own.
JOANNA GRUESOME. THE SINCLAIR, 52 CHURCH ST., CAMBRIDGE. WED 8.27. 8PM/$13.