The soundtrack to my life over the past four years has undoubtedly been MUNA’s third album, self-titled MUNA (2022). With the charting pop hit ‘Silk Chiffon’ featuring Phoebe Bridgers, the slinking synth of ‘What I Want’, and the love-struck grief of ‘Shooting Star’, MUNA has been on repeat for so long I had to take a break from the album. Just as incredible are their other albums, About U (2017) and Saves The World (2019). After four years of the same songs, you can believe that I was overjoyed they were finally about to release their new album.  

Dancing On The Wall (2026) was not what I’d hoped it to be. It was as if they had tried to copy what made MUNA so great and instead ended up with half-baked, slightly senseless lyrics put in front of a battering bass and drums. Don’t get me wrong, they’re decent songs, easy to listen to and often catchy. They have a moodier, more club-like vibe, which I’m not opposed to; About U is mostly moody songs. The sound and feel seems to be just missing something. 

Maybe my judgement is clouded by four years on a MUNA streak, but my expectations were high. Gone were the soft, aching lyrics of ‘Handle Me’ or the sultry, flirtatious ‘No Idea’. Most tracks sound the same: pop trying too hard to be grimy. The titular song’s imagery is messy. ‘You’re the wall that I keep banging my head against,’ sings lead vocalist Katie Gavin, in the first line of the chorus, only to end it with ‘I’m dancin’ on the wall when I’m with you’. The ‘wall’, a metaphor for a distant lover, changes between the first and last lines from being a person to…the divide in the relationship? Is Gavin ‘on the wall’ and indecisive? Is it a reference to being a wallflower? The lack of clarity makes the song less enjoyable. MUNA is no stranger to wordplay in their songs, such as ‘Girl’s Girl’ on DOTW, so this confusing use of mixed metaphors seems like a slip-up. 

A song I don’t like as much as I thought I would is ‘Big Stick’. It’s got all the components of MUNA I love: Gavin’s low and frantic vocals, a barrage of bass, and the pounding drum. It’s quick, compulsive, and catchy. It’s political. Again, most of MUNA’s songs are infused with politics, as they are a staunchly sapphic band with songs about wanting to ‘dance in the middle of a gay bar’. ‘Big Stick’, however, missed the mark. This critique on influencer-politics, the savagery of governments, and slow collapse of democracy is just too heavy-handed. Stuck between moody pop love songs, it comes across as an unwieldy outlier, almost like an afterthought to add to the album. I know, however, that this is not the case, as MUNA are a very politically outspoken band who have repeatedly voiced their support for Palestine and criticised the American government.  

With all that being said, all three band members beautifully perform ‘Big Stick’. The lyrics start off almost innocuous: ‘Make you want a matte lip and a miniskirt’, and gradually grow more sinister, ‘’Cause I write all the papers and the TV shows / To make you think that other people are criminals’. This all builds to the bridge: ‘We give weapons to dictators in apartheid states / We give kids in Palestine PTSD / But we’ll never fuckin’ ever give them something to eat’. Such a relevant, and needed, message perhaps is allowed to be so overt. At least they are speaking out against the current political landscape, even if it’s a slight preach to the choir. 

The song on the album which turned out to be my favourite surprised me. With a title like ‘Mary Jane’ and lyrics like ‘When you came in, you were wearing her perfume’ and ‘Why can’t I get you high like that?’, you can probably guess that this song is about the speaker struggling with her partner’s marijuana addiction. I think it ended up being my favourite because it most closely resembles tracks from their self-titled, like ‘Runner’s High’ or ‘Home By Now’ with its sad lyrics contrasted with an upbeat backing track (what I consider to be a MUNA staple). The metaphor is simple, stable, and runs throughout the song in a clear-cut way that was missing from ‘Dancing On The Wall’. MUNA’s specialty, sapphic angst, is tangible the whole way through, as Gavin repeats in the post-chorus, ‘You only wanna marry Mary Jane / Marry Mary, marry Mary’—a simple but effective use of word play that lets everything I love about MUNA shine through. 

I may not be playing Dancing On The Wall for four years on repeat, but I know I will still get plenty of enjoyment from one of my favourite band’s new albums. Maybe I just need some time to adjust to this moodier, hurried tone. I’ll get back to you in four years. 

By Jemima Humphrey 

Edited by Paige Wheeler 

Subedited by Eva Yuille