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Pop Fantasyland

Here Come the Unicorns

by Jennifer Maerz

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Ann Treasure

MÉTAL URBAIN Back in the day: ’70s French synth-punk.

Mon March 29, Crocodile, 8 pm, $8 adv/$10 DOS (all ages).

Having a subtle sense of humor is a rare talent these days--most mainstream bands want to body-slam you with cheeky irony or go for the same anatomical guffaws frat boys were high-fiving over back when kegs were first invented. But on the indie level, there are groups that employ a sly smirk in everything they do, that mix a childlike sense of free creativity with an adolescent desire to fuck with things a bit and an adult talent for playing complex music. This seems to be the story with Montreal's Unicorns, whose sense of play is essential to the totally entertaining value of their ebullient electronic pop--even if they sometimes deny its existence by stating their songs are about more heady issues.

Take, for instance, the title of their debut disc, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone? The photos of the trio in a bathtub of hair clippings. The songs about ghosts, and the website that explains, "Grizzly bears are people, too; baby peacocks are people, too; caterpillars are people, too; [and] old narwhals are people, too." And a tour diary that includes descriptions of past shows like, "We can probably wait about 500 years before we go back to North Bay, and more specifically Wyylderzz. We're not AC/DC and I think this pissed off everybody (see: five people) in the bar. At least we got to stay the night on the abandoned second floor." In everything the Unicorns do there's a feeling that they take their art seriously, all the while divorcing themselves from serious pop by using bright, bubbly artwork by vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Nicholas "Neil" Diamonds and cuddly lyrics like, "I was born a unicorn."

But drummer/bassist J'aime Tambour says you shouldn't make the mistake of thinking his band is a prank just because they have fun with their art. "A lot of people hear the album and just think it's a big joke," he says, "which is really weird. But if you don't get too deep into it I can see it's possible--with a lot of funny stuff and all the cartoony artwork and the talking about ghosts and whatever; but there's no song that's just a joke. They're all about something [deeper]." The result, he adds, is the opposite of a band built completely on laughs: "A lot of the stuff that's playful or silly is trying to talk about something that's serious and important to us. It can be difficult to approach serious topics, and this is one way of dealing with them--if you write about it in a way that's more lighthearted it can make it easier for you, and by extension other people, to deal with those things."

Take, for example, "Jellybones," a story about checking into an emergency room after driving a Camaro made of bones. After some sort of harrowing accident, the narrative concludes delicately, in cracking voices, with the potent lines, "But this is love, so we'll survive." And then there's "Ghost Mountain," a track that may seem like it's about Casper and friends but is actually addressing the issue of imperialism, albeit with characters better suited for a child's storybook. "It's about trying to take control of things that aren't yours, like people going to the ghost mountain and deciding not to put up a flag and take ghost mountain, but to leave it for the ghosts," says Tambour. "It might not come through the first time but if you listen to the lyrics it's a pretty interesting take on that subject."

More than their lyrics, their occasional pink costumes, and their mortal fixations on fictional creatures, the Unicorns' (who also include vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Alden Ginger) greatest hook is the music. Their pop is a patchwork of train-rattling electronic dance rhythms, singular, gut-wrenching melodies, and drum machines, a combination that pulls in pennywhistles, toy pianos, and violins between vocal harmonies and guitars that stop and start without warning. It's a dreamy collage that sets the Unicorns' pop pastiche adrift--a bright, sparkling package that shows the process of making music to be as enjoyable for the musicians as the final product is for their fans. "We have to find our fun where we can get it," says Tambour. "I think a lot of bands end up trapped--once the bands that start off more innocent and exciting become more successful, they think they have to be more serious. I think we take the band seriously but I don't think we take ourselves that seriously."

jennifer@thestranger.com

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