Review Summary: he is the prettiest woman you'll ever meet
The social lives of Liv Bruce and Ben Hopkins sound awkward. Lots of almost-relationships and dates that shipwreck as soon as numbers are exchanged. By their account, it’s all Sex In The City fantasy and no Ross and Rachel from Friends. When they see these prospects again, I imagine grace goes missing.
Turn your back, keep your head down, walk in the other direction.
PWR BTTM analyse those
oh, hi… moments. And then they analyse them again, and once more, until the only logical response is to accost the situation over a few bristling power chords. Bruce and Hopkins use snark as a defence mechanism (“who the hell gave you the right to tell me that I’m wrong?”), and Pageant has them battering away prejudices and heartache with unwavering devotion to the queer community, because how could you hate someone who looks
this damn good.
Queer is not just gender identity on Pageant, nor is it the function of its etymology. It’s a belief system – a burgeoning religion with empathy as its core principle. Bruce and Hopkins never escape the sideways glances on Pageant, but, with glitter as their war-paint, they set the record queer – a person is whatever they choose to be.
To be honest, they’re dumbfounded that there’s any other side to this controversy. They’re dumbfounded it’s even a controversy.
I admire that this record is relentlessly positive, too. It’s fun and – probably by obligation – brimming with self-confidence. The way Liv twists the connotations of “big bad sissy” is done with such conviction that they convince you they’ve found themselves in this definition, and what was originally derisive is now an empowering byline in the hands of the LGBTQ community. More importantly, PWR BTTM address the second person wonderfully on Pageant.
You (especially if you're confused about who that person is) are vital to Liv and Ben, and no matter whose bedroom they shout their hymns from, they are anchored by a need to inspire self-worth. Of course, the record begins with Hopkins confessing: “I cannot sit still/never have and never will”. He’ll sing his wide-eyed sermons until there’s no one left who feels the need to run like he did.
Pageant has impish, tapped guitar melodies facing off against downtrodden chord progressions in an entirely captivating back and forth. My favourite song on the record, the title track, finds Hopkins pushed into a dark corner by internal conflict – the painful distance between his body and his brain (“Jesus Christ, why don’t you love me?” is heartbreaking, you guys). The acoustic thrum follows the vocal melody around in support, and the track stamps out its identity with lamenting horns and the hushed conversation of body and spirit. It’s beautifully expressive when music and lyrics reject being of themselves. And so we progress to achieving the synthesis of mental and physical.
I read earlier a tweet from NPR writer, Marissa Lorusso, which conceded: “I can’t stop thinking about what my life would look like if I had heard this record as a teen”. PWR BTTM make like heretics but write and perform like torchbearers, their playful discourse a facilitator for discussion, and their music bringing us closer together. This is a good thing, because the closer I get to PWR BTTM, the more likely I am to find out who their stylist is.
