No Seat at the Table: The Last Dinner Party Serves Up Radical Feminism on a Silver Platter.
Written By: Lacey Fortune
The fourth wave of feminism is an undeniable force that is reshaping the cultural scenery, and one of the most exciting places its making itself known is in music. One band riding this wave with a fury of grace and ferocity is The Last Dinner Party, a 5 piece drove of women and non-binary people that’s been making room for their bold sound and unapologetic approach to gender, power, and identity. But as with many women and gender non-conforming people breaking into spaces once dominated by men, their rise to prominence has been met with the all-too-familiar skepticism— specifically, the accusation of being “industry plants.”
The term “industry plant” is used to describe an artist who appears to have gained success with the support of major record labels, often implying that their success is not truly earned, but rather manufactured. When The Last Dinner Party were first gaining traction, this label was immediately thrust upon them, with critics suggesting they couldn’t have reached genuine success without the behind-the-scenes help of powerful men. This critique, though, depicts more about the entrenched sexism within the music industry than it does about the bands’ actual innate talents. By pinning them with this label, The Last Dinner Party has been able to define themselves in opposition to the dismissive, sexist expectations that they have been exploited alongside. This very existence challenges the notion that women must first endure suffering, scrutiny, and often humiliation before achieving any sort of success, which encapsulates the themes of their debut album, ‘Prelude to Ecstasy’.
There is something indisputably freeing about hearing a band of women and non-binary people create music that speaks to their deepest instincts. The Last Dinner Party’s sound is both a reflection and a rebellion— a sonic exploration of the internalised struggles of femininity, and an assertion of their right to transcend them. They’ve tapped into something primal: the desire to be free from the conventional gender roles that often define us within a patriarchal society.
Gender Envy: The Power Without the Privilege.
One of the most compelling themes within The Last Dinner Party’s music is what I'd like to call a form of gender envy— not the kind we might expect, where women may envy the physicality of men, but a different yearning for the social power that men are so often gifted by birth. In songs such as ‘Beautiful Boy’ and ‘Caesar on a TV Screen’, the members don’t desire to take on the temperament of masculinity— they are driven by a desire for something greater: the unchallenged privilege and power that men have long held by default.
The album’s symbolic references to religion— specifically Christian iconography— serve as a platform to critique the structures that have oppressed women for centuries. ‘My Lady of Mercy’, for example, reimagines the Virgin Mary, offering a bold resort to the traditional depiction of her as a symbol of passive suffering. This is no meek, fragile woman— The Last Dinner Party’s take on the Virgin is one of
reclamation, a woman taking back the narrative of her own strength and sexuality. These aren’t new archetypes, but the bands’ youthful, vibrant energy gives them new life. They’re not simply rehashing the old; they're throwing the whole thing out with an eye-roll at the social conventions that dictate how women should be perceived, their suffering lauded as art, but their success still suspect.
Radicalism and Repression.
The album unfolds like an exhilarating narrative of radicalism, each track connected to the one before it— expansive, restless, defiant. There’s a common thread throughout that pushes against the restrictive roles assigned to women, calling for liberation through self-expression. ‘Prelude to Ecstasy’ is a sweeping, chaotic exploration of what it means to feel monstrous, repressed, yet unapologetically alive. This body of work seethes with discomfort, with disgust at the realisation that women have been fed to the wolves as the main course in a society that solely benefits men. And yet, there is no bitterness in this— only embrace of radical autonomy.
Each song feels less like a conquest and more like a reflection of a deep internal conflict, a constant wrestling with expectations and the desire to break loose. As they sing with defiance,The Last Dinner Party winks knowingly at a culture that insists a woman’s art must be born of agony. The band plays with this expectation, offering a joyous critique of the “beauty-as-power” narrative that is perpetuated onto women.
The track ‘The Feminine Urge’ grapples with the internal and ingrained relationship with objectification of women, beauty as a currency as well as intergenerational exertion. Within the lines, “I am a dark red liver stretched out on the rocks / All the poison, I convert it and I turn it to love”, these lyrics present a complex exploration of feminine “power”, emotional labor, and the generational inheritance of pain. The "dark red liver stretched out on the rocks" conjures an image of something broken, vulnerable, and exposed. The liver, a vital organ responsible for detoxification, is symbolic here. It represents both the processing of toxic influences and the resilience to handle them. The phrase "stretched out on the rocks" suggests a state of being wounded or abandoned—perhaps a nod to the emotional labor that women often bear, whether it’s from societal expectations or personal hardships.
The line “All the poison, I convert it and I turn it to love” speaks to an alchemical process of transformation. Here, poison symbolises harm, negativity, and the toxicity women experience within both society and relationships. The act of “converting it” suggests a kind of internal strength, where the speaker takes something harmful and turns it into something positive—love. This is a profound reflection of the emotional labor many women undertake, often absorbing negativity or hardship in order to nurture or care for others: despite the poison they absorb, women have had to harbour the power to transmute that energy into something life-affirming.
The track nods to the intergenerational wounds passed down by the women that came before them. The desire to nurture those wounds is indicative of the “caregiver” role often placed upon women, a role that holds detrimental weight and is often limiting. The expectation to constantly tend to the needs of men reinforces a cycle where women are expected to prioritise others’ well-being while neglecting their own,
trapping them in a repetitive pattern of self-sacrifice and emotional labor that can stifle personal growth and self-expression.
Breaking Tradition, Breaking Boundaries.
Perhaps one of the most radical moments of ‘Prelude to Ecstasy’ comes with the track ‘Gjuha,’ which translates to “Language” or “Tongue” in Albanian. This song reimagines traditional Albanian folk music— a genre historically only sung by male musicians— through the voices of women. The result is a hauntingly beautiful fusion of old and new, a reworking of tradition that opens up the genre to new interpretations. The track's juxtaposition of soprano vocal harmonies against the folk-like instrumentation is not just musically stunning; it’s a subtle act of rebellion against the norms of who gets to sing and what they get to sing about.
And yet, the album doesn't shy away from acknowledging the complexity of the female experience. It reflects on the weight of being a woman, the constant strain of attempting to fit comfortably into a world built for men, and the extreme burnout that comes from endlessly healing others whilst managing their own. The narration of the album contemplates how women are often expected to fix the brokenness of those around them, even at the cost of their own sense of self. It’s a stark portrayal of the cynical nature of nurturing, one that ultimately leaves women depleted, struggling to survive.
A New Feminist Voice in the Music Industry.
In The Last Dinner Party, we witness the emergence of a new feminist voice that refuses to be silenced by the industry's patriarchal structures. Their potent sound and unapologetic nature cut through the noise, asserting a vision that redefines the role of women and gender non-conforming individuals in music. Every note is a bold statement, not just about musicality, but about reclaiming space in an arena historically dominated by men. Their rise to prominence, met with disproportionate criticism and skepticism, is itself a testament to the strength of their message—success, in this case, is not just a victory in artistry but an act of defiance. The Last Dinner Party is not only reshaping the soundscape but boldly rewriting the rules of what it means to exist and thrive as a feminist in the music industry.
