by Joseph Farago
“I don’t need to speak, I need a sentence,” singer Mary Jane Dunphe whispers enigmatically before the chaos of the backline thunders in on “Trick Plane”. With NYC’s powerful punk group Pinocchio, the mission seems to be providing an intentional chasm of disorder alongside its almost instantaneous withdrawal. Fuzzy, whaling guitars thrashing across booming kicks and tom hits yield to surprising seconds of silence; it is these contrasts on Pinocchio’s self-titled EP that prove their meticulous and thoughtful musicianship. The record breezes through tumultuous territory in quick, spirited amusement, leaving the listener completely entranced by its ten minute conclusion. The cacophony is there, understandably integral to the punk genre, but it’s the idiosyncrasies that allow the record to breathe and define itself accordingly. Whether it’s the undeniably transcendent high-register of Dunphe on “My Time Vol. 1” or the rapid, unpredictable changes of tempo parading through the record, Pinocchio stands out as a mystifying and unique force among their contemporaries.
The record starts off with the thumping, steady percussion of “My Time Vol.1,” but it’s not this sturdy introduction that signals its impending ecstasy. It’s the routined implementation of handclaps that exudes the similarly euphoric feelings of being at a live performance. Employing the claps as their own personal hype-man, Pinocchio readies us for the rhythmic bombardment to come. While the kit remains cemented in its supportive position, Dunphe’s operatic lines drape the intro in a surprising joviality. Their coos come off as a bizarre yet entrancing laugh, opening the record to the potential for beguiling mischievousness.
The opener isn’t the only track that’s bursting with vigorous energy. “Light Speed Vol. 2” and “My Time Vol. 2” enlist its abrasive instrumentation with demanding bass lines and intricate guitar melodies. The riffs can be flying in every direction at one moment, then reside to a state of placidity by the next. Like a wild animal, the guitars seem uncontrollable and unconstrained until shouts and howls from Dunphe’s unprecedented vocal delivery appear to pacify them. The unwearying balance of rhythm and melody resist all forms of deterioration as screams reshape into refrains and back again, commanding all other sounds to follow correspondingly.
By the moment “Your Time” rolls around, the track’s fittingly named encore, Pinocchio finalizes what they’ve already established with the reintroduction of claps and the unrelenting repetition of their operatic ringleader. They’ve confirmed a vivacious force and attitude unlike other performers, while igniting a playfulness that pairs with their quintessential punk tenacity. “Your time, now it’s your time” Dunphe instructs, allowing a sudden freedom from their captivating rodeo one could only long to return to.