The EP ends with two remixes that fall near-perfectly in line with the trio’s scything musical vision. “Sous le feu et sous les balles/Les hommes dansent quasiment” (“As the bullets hit them, the men dance, almost”), Caulfield snaps over the garish howls and sinister pulse. The imagery is horrifying, but Caulfield’s snippy growl and Fair’s white-hot synths make the song oddly fun. The slight hiss on the recordings emphasizes these strengths, especially on highlight “Bottle Episode,” where Caulfield’s voice gnashes through descriptions of bullets tearing apart soldiers’ bodies. These songs are even-keeled yet ramshackle, equally indebted to no wave and dance, bound to get your heart rate up to mosh pace. The trio’s music is combative in its dissonance and just-above-midtempo stomp, but there’s liberation in the arrangements. When the music briefly explodes with rubbery percussion and flayed drones, Mandy, Indiana wordlessly suggest freedom. Delivering her incantations in a high, barbed register with hardly any lilt to her voice, she sounds like a lower-fidelity Florence Shaw of Dry Cleaning.
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Atop the sixteenth-note, coldwave throb of “Alien 3,” Caulfield describes unburdening herself of someone else’s apathy: “Tu t’en fous/J’ai plus envie d’être à genoux” (“You don’t care/I won’t live on my knees anymore”). Her rapid cadence ricochets off the music to emphasize the situational terror.
“J’suis une grande fille, je sais où je vais, j’me perdrai pas” (“I’m a big girl, I know where I’m going, I won’t get lost”), she says, speaking in fits and starts, as if running out of time to choose between fight or flight.
Amid the formless noise and swelling synths of “Nike of Samothrace,” her adrenaline skyrockets as she attempts to dissuade a second, silent character-maybe a creepy man at last call-from following her home at night. Much of Mandy, Indiana’s power lies in Caulfield’s shapeshifting, hammer-to-the-head vocals.
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