Beauty can stop feeling personal when pleasing others becomes its goal. A choice becomes a duty. But who gets to decide when someone has done enough?

That question offers a way into “Plastic Angels”, the single The Cunning Linguists. The Sydney trio addresses modern beauty standards and the pressures they place on women.

Instead of praising an ideal, they question the demands behind it.

The single directs attention towards an expectation rather than a supposedly inadequate person. Instead of asking how women can meet an ideal, it asks why that ideal deserves obedience.

This is a useful focus for social commentary because it resists making individual appearance the problem. Personal taste and a duty to please others are different propositions.

The band’s concern gives listeners a reason to examine that difference.

Consider a phone-camera filter as an analogy. A face becomes an image with adjustable settings, and adjustment can start to look like correction.

Yet a setting cannot decide what a person should be. The comparison helps make the single’s stated concern feel close enough to question, without making self-expression the problem.

Instead, it directs attention towards the point where a preference becomes a requirement. That distinction matters because pleasure and pressure should not mean the same thing.

The Cunning Linguists have been together for roughly ten months. Their influences include 90s Grunge, Riot Grrl, Punk and Goth Rock, alongside broader listening interests.

The trio also identifies social commentary as part of its purpose. Their fast, heavy approach gives this subject an unpolished punk setting. Here, the focus on women gives that commitment a specific subject.

It asks us to consider the cost of expectations rather than accept their authority without question.

Clare Easdown handles vocals, Jade Easdown plays guitar, and Bart Gill plays drums. Their shared writing approach usually begins with lyrics.

Next, they find a riff that fits before adding drums and vocal melody. That sequence describes how they generally build songs together, with each member contributing ideas.

Because words come first, the approach gives the subject an early place in their decisions. Clare’s vocal role includes the melody they add to that shared framework of words, guitar and drums.

Meanwhile, the trio rehearses weekly at its local studio, which also served as the recording location for “Plastic Angels”. They learn as they go, and the practical details make that phrase unusually concrete.

Microphones went into drum holes; other microphones balanced on bags. Guitar amps rested precariously on stools, while Clare looked at the lyrics.

These are specific working choices, not a romantic claim that difficulty automatically produces better art.

The band wanted a raw live sound, like the experience of one of its gigs. They also handled the mixing and mastering themselves. As a result, the same three contributors carried the work through writing, recording and finishing.

That continuity gives their DIY approach substance beyond a label. However, the most interesting point is their chosen aim: keeping a link to live performance rather than pursuing polish for its own sake.

The process also offers a useful alternative to waiting until every condition feels ideal. The band accepts learning and adjustment as part of making something together.

Meanwhile, the single questions pressures that ask women to keep meeting an imposed standard. Read together, those choices suggest a less punishing measure of worth.

Expression can have value without meeting somebody else’s specification. The practical recording approach gives that idea a concrete creative form.

Their recent gig at LazyBones Lounge in Marrickville raised money for an Indigenous charity. That activity adds a concrete action to their interest in social commentary.

Meanwhile, November’s plans include Loud Women Festival and FREAKY’S FUNHOUSE at Dead Set. December brings Punkmas at Dissent Bar and Cafe in Canberra.

These engagements place the single beside an ongoing live practice, rather than leaving its raw live ambition as an isolated recording goal.

For anyone seeking new punk music concerned with social expectations, “Plastic Angels” presents a clear point of entry.

Its subject offers something to discuss beyond the usual question of personal taste. Moreover, the trio’s shared authorship and self-managed recording keep the people behind that message in view.

There is no need to turn those choices into a promise of perfection. Their interest lies in making the work together and giving a difficult subject their attention.

Ultimately, the title leaves a question worth keeping. If approval depends on becoming somebody else’s ideal, what remains of the original choice?

The Cunning Linguists direct their commentary towards that pressure. Perhaps the useful response begins with asking who benefits when women feel they must keep correcting themselves.