Big Girl started as a weird little pansexual in Miami, writing in her journal and smoking mids in her bedroom, but now the searing four-piece has ripped a hole in the NYC punk(ish) scene with their earwormy idiosyncratic indie-glitter-punk. Big Girl's explosive, high-energy performances, lead by the ‘force-of-nature’ lead-singer Kaitlin Pelkey, are surreal and heavy-hitting, with angular melodic guitar parts, ferocious vocals, and over-the-top onstage antics. The result is their own blend of biting punk mixed with intimate Mitski-like lyrical authenticity. It's hot-headed, it's fun, and it feels like friendship. Liable to make you cry, dance all night, or even quit your job.
Stereogum called their most recent EP, DYE, “big, brash, exceptionally catchy pop music from a queer perspective.” Three-quarters of the way through “quit ur job,” the searing indie pop song takes a sharp turn. Atonal guitars roar furiously, the drums pound like the doomsday clock’s second hand, and frontperson Kaitlin Pelkey, her voice shredded by peals of distortion, scream-sings “I love making minimum wage!” It’s jarring, pummeling, cathartic, and one of the moments during the making of Big Girl’s new EP, DYE, that makes the band members laugh the hardest. They found, as Pelkey puts it, the “delusional chorus” during a “late night freak out” writing session at a cabin in upstate New York. At first, it seemed too much, too silly, too left-field, but the more they thought about it, the more it clicked. For all of their purging punk energy, Big Girl embraces the absurd, understanding that laughing at the discomfort can take away its power.
The New York City-based quartet, which features Pelkey, (bass, main vocals), Crispin Swank (guitar, vocals), Michael Cohen (drums, vocals), and Clay Parcells (guitar, vocals), combines brute-force guitar pyrotechnics with addictive hooky songwriting. The musicians cite 90s bands like Weezer, Pavement, and Pixies, as well as angular contemporary acts like Speedy Ortiz, Deerhoof, and Courtney Barnett, as significant influences.
Pelkey’s songwriting reveals a sugary pop sensibility, becoming known to some as “the punk rock Chappell Roan.” And indeed, each of DYE’s five songs twists and turns through knotty arrangements, offering wry, sneering-but-smiling lyrics, blistering solos, and hook after hook after hook. There’s the Deerhunter-esque psychedelia that caps “I Can’t Tell,” the twin cannon Television leads in “Please Don’t Forget Me,” the slacker fuzz that permeates “Dye My Hair.” It’s easy to point out the band’s antecedents, but Big Girl doesn’t revel in nostalgia, pushing these sounds into bold, unpredictable territory.
Though the band has several releases under their belt, DYE feels like a fresh introduction. After touring for a few years with the current lineup, the band wanted to capture the raw energy of their live show. To capture that explosive energy, the band workshopped the songs in marathon rehearsals, then decamped to Easthampton, MA’s Sonelab Studios to again record with Justin Pizzoferrato (Speedy Ortiz, Dinosaur Jr., Pixies), who engineered and produced their previous record, Big Girl vs. God. Guitarist Crispin Swank produced the record, and after three 30-hour days, the band emerged with DYE.
At its core, the EP deals with grief in all stages. Pelkey wrote the songs while mourning her mother, and you can sense a palpable urgency, feeling around for a foothold after being rocked by tragedy. There’s a search for identity and perspective and a healthy amount of righteous anger, but perhaps most importantly, a profound sense of empathy. These are big-hearted songs, inviting the listener to wail and cry and gather up the strength to face what’s coming. “The revolution happens inside before it can be witnessed on the outside,” Pelkey asserts. “I want to give a voice to grief, to radical change, and to how powerful it can be to say ‘Fuck this, I’m done.’”
Contact: biggirlbandnyc@gmail.com