Postpartum Punk Rock Takes the Stage

Seven-thirty. Bedtime. The babies are down; the moms are out. Recently, Ania Poullain-Majchrzak and Florence Devereux, the lead singers of the postpartum punk band Pushy Pushy Pushy, arrived at Rooz Studios in East London for a dress rehearsal. It was the night before a headline gig at a festival in Stoke Newington, and the 10 p.m. start time was on their minds. “Not the most mama-friendly,” Devereux had texted earlier. “The trials and tribulations of being a punk mum!”

Punk motherhood: Late nights, early mornings. Performing while covered in milk. Lots of screaming. Over the past year, Poullain-Majchrzak, a video journalist and filmmaker from Poland, and Devereux, a curator and astrologer, have been touring London venues with their bandmates, aiming to “help people give birth to their inner child.” Onstage, they wear spandex bodysuits and belt out lyrics about motherhood. (“Why am I awake at 4 a.m. / Throw me a bone, I’m on my own.”) Both sing, and Devereux also plays the flute. “You hear a lot of stories in the art world where people say you can’t be a successful artist and have a child,” Devereux said. Her one-and-a-half-year-old toddler, Ida Eve, and Poullain-Majchrzak’s three-year-old daughter, Frances Elektra, challenge that notion. “Carolee Schneemann said that. Judy Chicago said that. This definitely is a bit of a middle finger to that idea.”

What’s more punk than a baby? They don’t care about the rules or how tired you are. After Poullain-Majchrzak gave birth, she fell into a funk. “I don’t think I had proper postpartum depression, but I had postpartum blues, and it was hard,” she said. At forty-one, she had been labeled a “geriatric” mother; she hadn’t planned on having a baby. “Before motherhood, music for me was a hobby, but after giving birth it became a survival tool,” she explained. “It felt like gasping for air from under an avalanche of nappies.” The duo started playing together in 2019, but it was only after having kids that things settled into place. “Before, we were really quixotic, this kind of fun band, but nothing was happening,” Poullain-Majchrzak said. Afterward, “we got our shit together.” They found a drummer and rebranded the group from Ania & the Amateurs to Pushy Pushy Pushy.

“I think motherhood has made us pushy, right?” Devereux said. “It’s hard work!” Poullain-Majchrzak agreed. “It’s since babies that we’ve been doing gigs, gigs, gigs.”

At Rooz Studios, the rest of the band—three men, including Poullain-Majchrzak’s partner, George—was warming up. Devereux, with her blond Stevie Nicks bangs, wore a ruffled mustard sweater and black pants. Poullain-Majchrzak, who is lanky with rock-and-roll curls, sported patterned leggings and cowboy boots. The band had written most of their songs during a country retreat, often with kids climbing onto their laps. “The lack of sleep—I think it might bring something to the songwriting process,” Devereux said. “The delirium. You’re in a liminal space. Your ego, that normally likes to control things, isn’t there.”

In preparation for the show, Poullain-Majchrzak and Devereux had put up posters outside local day-care centers, encouraging mothers of all types to join them onstage as part of the Punk Mother Chaos Choir. “We’ve got ten,” Poullain-Majchrzak said. Devereux mentioned receiving a message from a mom who planned to come after seeing someone wearing a Pushy Pushy Pushy T-shirt at a stay-and-play. “We’re recruiting desperate mothers,” Devereux said. “Or happy, settled mothers—they’re also welcome.”

They played a song, “Lazy Dominatrix,” that starts with a series of sighs. Poullain-Majchrzak’s daughter had recently taken to imitating them. In another number, they donned sheer capes and wielded baby spoons; later, they rolled on the floor. They moved their hips in unison and shouted, “Rebirth your ego!” In “Ciao Darwin,” a psychedelic song about motherhood, they rehearsed inviting mothers in the audience to join them on stage. Devereux sang a verse: “I’m in a prison of my own making / Gave birth to my girl while I was shaking / I look beyond me and I see a quarry / But I’ve got perks, don’t you worry.” Poullain-Majchrzak banged a mini-gong and Devereux screamed, “My sacred loins! My sacred loins! My sacred loins!”

It was almost time to pack up. How tired were the parents in the room? “I had my best night’s sleep in months last night, so I’m vibing,” Devereux said. “Yesterday, I was on my knees.”

“George is tired,” Poullain-Majchrzak said.

The guitarist, Andrew Kipps, said that his eleven-year-old still wakes him at night.

“Not the news we want to hear!” Devereux said.

Source: New Yorker