The Last Dinner Party’s second album, From the Pyre, is a glorious display of theatrical rock, poetic lyricism and unapologetic femininity.
There’s something almost mythical about The Last Dinner Party. From their immaculate visuals to their decadent stage presence, they have always seemed like a band born fully formed. Their debut, Prelude to Ecstasy, was an audacious entrance that turned heads and divided critics in equal measure. For most, it marked the arrival of a band unafraid to be excessive, authentic, and unapologetically feminine in a mesh of genres that have long been dominated by men.
Now, with From the Pyre, the band have well and truly marked their territory. This album never lingers safely; it arches, dives and claws its way through genres with chaotic precision – what I believe to be the mark of musical genius.
This album is so technically dense, so authentically experimental in its approach, so flawless, it is hard to believe that this is their sophomore album rather than a 4th or even 5th. From the Pyre feels both mature and playful in a way that an established legendary rock band could only manage.
Though my taste in music is eclectic, being from a culturally diverse background means I have traditionally been brought up around music dominated by strong melodies and vocals (we’re talking Motown, Soul and R&B). All of this to say, it takes something truly special for me to be captivated by a genre like rock, which is such a far departure from my usual soft soulful sound. This album enchanted me by threatening to pull me out of my comfort zone, and then grounding me again. It feels like being slapped and kissed in the same breath. I remain in awe of the way Abigail Morris’ vocals and sheer presence command this of the listener. Consider this my confession: she can absolutely slap me any day.
“Here comes the apocalypse and I can’t get enough of it,” Morris sings on the opening track Agnus Dei, over guitars and keys that immediately establish the album’s darker edge. That tension, which feels grandiose, pulses through From the Pyre in the first few seconds.
It’s TLDP at their best; devastating, sensual, and unflinchingly self-aware. The song toys with the eroticism of fame, blurring adoration and sacrifice. “The pyre” itself becomes a symbol of that burning tension between worship and destruction. It’s an album that understands that power, particularly feminine power, has always been framed as dangerous.
Across From the Pyre, that same depiction of womanhood being messy, divine, and furious, lingers beneath the surface. Count the Ways drips with dark sensuality and heartbreak, a love that lingers long after it should have died. It’s violent in its beauty, laced with religious imagery and emotional decay, but also deeply human. Undoubtedly, a soon-to-be fan favourite.
As a literature graduate, the lyricism in this album gives me the same intellectual joy that comes with the deep analysis of gothic prose or poetry, something to be picked apart for hours, revealing symbols, themes and meanings that you can revel in, and just when you think you’ve gotten to the core, there are more layers to peel back.
Few bands write lyrics that feel like living myths the way The Last Dinner Party do. Their songwriting blurs the line between literature and theatre. Second Best is a perfect example, opening in near-euphoric harmony before slipping into a confounding lyrical self-awareness, backed by a 70s-inspired rock. Then, in contrast, Woman Is a Tree creeps in with something much darker, a disjointed harmonised hymn that feels almost ritualistic, like the band are invoking a creature from the underworld. It’s both unsettling and beautiful, held together by Morris’ voice, which moves from ethereal to guttural in a heartbeat. And then there’s The Scythe, the album’s emotional core, which rises from soft melancholy into one of the most devastatingly beautiful choruses of their career. It’s a song that proves they can hold the grandeur of dark storytelling and still cut straight to the heart.
If Prelude to Ecstasy was the candlelit overture, From the Pyre is the full blaze, a study in maximalism done right. The record refutes minimalism; it layers and collides. In Rifle, psychedelic undertones twist through delicate piano lines, creating something simultaneously hypnotic and intimate, while Aurora Nishevci’s beautiful I Hold Your Anger melts like a candle, slow-burning and emotionally raw. Another standout is This Is The Killer Speaking, which bursts through as a fun, theatrical and chaotic fever dream, further emphasising the way they can jump around, experimenting, while still ensuring everything fits together.
What ties it all together is the precision. For all their grandiosity, TLDP are never messy; every instrumental swell, every harmony serves a purpose. From the Pyre moves like a living, breathing, restless organism.
As a feminist publication, we have to talk about The Last Dinner Party’s feminism on this album. They’re no strangers to feminist themes, as a femme rock band, their very existence in this space is already a feminist act. Having seen them live, I can say with confidence that they (especially Morris) possess a commanding rockstar presence reminiscent of Bowie or Mercury, which might explain the visceral bi-panic their performance left me in. Past songs like Feminine Urge and Beautiful Boy cemented their effortless engagement with feminist ideas, and From The Pyre continues this in a way that feels so seamlessly woven into the album that it reads as instinctive rather than performative (Katy Perry, I’m looking at you). The perfect way to describe this record is womanhood mythologised. Their signature grotesque metaphors and explorations of identity naturally lend themselves to that idea. On every listen, live performance and music video, I can’t help but feel this humming electricity that comes from being so excitedly in awe of women owning a space, of being so unapologetically cool.
From the Pyre has proven that the band have grown both sonically and thematically. They have established who they are and their sound. Rather than caving to the pressure of their success, they have stayed true to themselves, elevated and delivered. They have taken huge melodic and technical risks, but that experimentation is what makes this stand out and what makes it so damn good. They are genre-bending in the best way, keeping us seated with haunting operatic harmonies and melodies combined with poetic lyricism steeped in dark theatrics, deliciously dark religious imagery and a true vulnerability that exists beneath all of that which captivates you in a way that few artists are able to today. In true TLDP dark theatrical flair, let me finish by saying that you’d have to drag me to my grave and bury me alive before getting me to say a single bad thing about this album.
