The members of the band Muna are locked in a heated debate over Zoom.
“I’m kind of the naked one in the band,” Katie Gavin says.
“I’m maybe the most clothed,” adds Naomi McPherson.
“Not really,” Josette Maskin counters. “Not in the video.”
“Well, yeah, I forgot about that,” McPherson concurs. “Oops. Well, now I’m the naked one. Fuck.”
Today, the emotive dark-pop Los Angeles band returns after nearly four years to announce their forthcoming album, Dancing on the Wall—and with that, the release of the titular lead single. Since Muna released their self-titled album, the trio has undergone an evolution of sound, style, and spirit—one that’s brought them closer to home and much deeper into themselves.
The song, they say, is a bridge between the euphoric pop sounds of their 2017 debut About U and Muna (2022) and the introspective, punkier tones they established on 2019’s Saves the World. Dancing on the Wall, according to the band, is a return to form. “It feels really close to the values and visual world of our first album, except that we are returning to that with both more self-knowledge and a higher skill set,” Gavin says.
“It’s also about knowing who we are,” Maskin adds.
While the band has grown up a lot between albums (they’ve all since entered their 30s), they also note that Dancing on the Wall comes at a time of sociopolitical duress. The trio is vocal about issues close to their hearts, using Muna’s Instagram account to raise awareness and funds for everything from relief in Gaza to mutual aid in Echo Park. For Gavin, the heaviness in the world can often feel at odds with more granular personal struggles. “We have so much information about the world, and at the same time, we’re all going through really mundane, petty things and personal heartbreak,” she says. “I struggle with a lot of guilt about that.”
The confluence of personal and global strife is something that the band wanted to dig into on Dancing on the Wall. “There’s a phenomenon that happens during natural disasters where people experience a kind of gratitude because they are building community that draws people together in this intense way,” Gavin says. “That is also something that I have experienced in this time. Even with the LA fires, we’ve been through a lot, and I’m so much more in love with humans, seeing the way that people are showing up. That’s also in the DNA of this album.”
The band’s visual world for the record articulates much more. Black and white with pops of red, strips of leather, and club lights are abundant. “Red is a big touchpoint for this cycle that felt resonated with us and felt really special and urgent and carnal,” McPherson says. This time around, they have a more unified approach to their fashion. “The last cycle, we were all kind of individual cartoon characters,” they add. “We were attracted to the idea of having a more pared-down [look].”
Despite such self-imposed sartorial limits, their sense of individuality shines through. “It’s cute when you’re in a band and know each other really well,” Gavin says. “I know I can look at a piece of clothing and be like, ‘This is a Naomi silhouette,’ or ‘This is a Josette silhouette.’”
The more minimal direction—plus an emphasis on vintage (eagle-eyed fans may have noticed Maskin’s early-aughts Raf Simons “All Is Safe” shirt in the music video)—is also a moral stance. “It’s not about chasing the next trend—it’s about being trendless,” Maskin says. “The ethos of that is important to these songs and who we are.”
Indeed, the band’s values are intrinsic to whatever they do. While Dancing may prove a departure from the pop-heavy Muna, the band is—as ever—contending with complicated, conflicting feelings that arise against a backdrop of soul-crushing headlines. As Gavin puts it: “It’s the music of somebody who can’t deny the darkness of the world that we’re living in right now and is still contending with human desires and emotion.”
