It’s leaning towards the end of Dream Wife’s set at Iceland Airways when vocalist Rakel Mjöll’s starts crying out to the crowd: “I spy, with my little eye, bad, bad, bad, bad bitches.” It’s a call to arms; a moment of avalanching anger that appears somewhat tongue-in-cheek while unapologetically proud at the same time.
“We maybe don’t have anything in common, maybe we don’t know each other,” Mjöll says of calling women punters to the front in ‘F.U.U.’, “but what I’m getting at is that all of us in here are bad bitches.” While young men still get excused with cries of ‘boys will be boys’ when they’re acting up, Mjöll says, “it’s so fucked” that it’s often not accepted for women to be bad in the same way: “Women, we have so many different variations of ourselves and the bad bitch is one of them.”
It’s 12am in London when Mjöll picks up the call, and she’s tucked up next to her radiator. Having grown up by the ocean in California, the Reykjavik-born artist lusts to “hug the waves” when Dream Wife arrive in Australia for their Laneway shows. “Being in the water,” she says, “it just reminds that you’re human and that you’re part of this world.”
The three-piece started out at a Brighton arts university while Mjöll and bass player Bella Podpadec were living together. “One night we were out and talking about how much we wanted to go to Canada. We didn’t want to travel without a purpose, so we thought why not make a band?”
They recruited guitarist Alice Go for a performance art show at a Brighton gallery (alongside a This Is Spinal Tap-like mockumentary showcasing their fictitious and elaborate backstory), and realised they could take the project further.
Organising their Canadian tour with the help of friends, they played “random shows” at local’s houses: “We became really grateful in a sense. It’s a great thing for a performer to learn from doing, and also from the mistakes that you make,” she says.
Podpadec and Go sport a bright ’90s underground Berlin aesthetic, while Mjöll reminds me of an Icelandic Cher from Clueless; she stands out with a sweet, confident and defiantly direct demeanour.
Dream Wife’s melodic progressions pulse to propulsive rhythms, perhaps similar to an early Arcade Fire number, and often spin out into a derailed punky mess. The band are inspired by DIY artists such as Le Tigre and Bikini Kill, which they combine with iconic pop influences David Bowie, Madonna and Blondie’s Debbie Harry.
It sort of goes back into understanding that it’s not your fault. Whatever you wear, it doesn’t matter.
Of the political nature of their lyrics, Mjöll says, “We didn’t really think about it to begin with.” Tracks like ‘Somebody’ poured out of their consciousness with ease. “I was actually quite scared when I released that song. Basically there was a campaign similar to #metoo happening in Iceland. [The song is] about sexual harassment and sexual assault and it’s also about being judged on your body and gender, and being women in music.” On the track, Mjöll sings, “What you wore and how you wore it so well / What did you expect would happen,” calling out recurring dialogues that pressure survivors of sexual assault to take responsibility for their perpetrator’s behaviour. “It sort of goes back into understanding that it’s not your fault,” explains Mjöll, “whatever you wear, it doesn’t matter.”
Elsewhere, the line “I am not my body, I am somebody”, critiques the industry pressure placed on artists to cater their body type to unrealistic standards: “[You] should be judged on whatever you give to the table.”
In a similar vein, the lead single from the band’s debut, self-titled album, ‘Let’s Make Out’, sees them lean into the title lyric with adolescent playfulness. “With that song, we had so much fun,” she explains. “It’s very cheeky. It’s strong, it’s powerful, it’s funny and it’s very weird for some people having three women scream ‘let’s make out’ [at them]. It’s intimidating to some people in the crowd.”
Many of the songs on Dream Wife ring with young romantic nostalgia. Mjöll combines cute, yet piecing shrieks with the power of Karen O’s speak-singing on ‘Spend The Night, asking, “Would you like to spend the night together? I can’t read your mind” and ‘Love Without Reason’: “Let’s be kids and fall in love.”
And while her friends were popping their smooch-cherries at as young as twelve, Mjöll was “obsessed” with having the perfect kiss. “I watched way too many Disney films as a kid, and I had this kind of twisted idea of what a first kiss should be like. So in my early teens, I was dodging people at you know, school dances. I waited until my 16th birthday, and it was nothing special – nothing special. That was a terrible idea.” She laughs.
“Like, you cannot plan the perfect kiss. It doesn’t matter who the person is or how perfect they seem. I think one of the worse kisses [is when you’re with someone] who you think are gonna be great and they just give you like, a peck.” She makes a “mwa” pop sound with her lips, and continues laughing.
Making out shouldn’t have to lead to sex at all.
“And I think kissing shouldn’t be linked with sex; like, making out shouldn’t have to lead to sex at all. You should be able to make out with your friends, make out with everyone you wanna make out with, as long as there is consent, of course.
“[It’s about] having the power to be quite open about it and explore your own sexuality, while remembering that it should just be fun.”
Dream Wife’s self-titled album is out through Inertia and Lucky Number now. You can catch them play at their Laneway sideshow at The Lansdowne on Tuesday February 6.
