"Then Lecithin Emulsifier, an inventor who appeared on the last album [1996's Gay Parade] tells them he'll take them away to a frozen island and create this special world for them."
I want to live in his world. Who wouldn't? It's an alarming primary-color cavalcade of sweet love and baby spiders who like pudding (without raisins). In the tradition of the grand concept albums of mid-'60s Brits (think Kinks' We Are the Village Green Preservation Society, with better melodies), Of Montreal consistently make records that tell elaborately kooky stories and blow the socks off contemporary harmonic songwriters.
Their latest release, Horse & Elephant Eatery (No Elephants Allowed): The Singles & Songles Album, is a collection of songs from other recordings (mostly the Japanese versions of previous albums). Every feeling it evokes is warm and homey, from barbershop quartets to pre-sexual-revolution pop to beautifully trippy modern fairy tales reminiscent of Sid & Marty Kroft. Most of all, there's a brazenly charming purity to every note they create. It's a purity that, on the surface, seems wondrous and bright-eyed--a guileless children's story. But it's not simple at all; Of Montreal's gazing, mewling art hasn't a trace of irony. As Barnes says, "We are not writing songs about kickball or Kool-Aid, and we spend a lot of time on the music and arranging the songs."
Horse & Elephant Eatery's opening track, playfully titled "A Celebration of H. Hare," is an ode to Barnes' brother, resplendent with strings, radiant harmonies, a tambourine, and a gleamingly sincere chorus of "I love you/And I know that you love me, too." That is so fucking adorable. I'm not kidding. Those lyrics, an unfaltering testament to two siblings' bonds in maturity, can only be the words of the fabulously unjaded.
"We want to make really colorful, happy, positive music. We're trying to create a better world that's more pleasant than the world in which we really live," says Barnes.
Their world contains more than a little love. From "The Problem with April," a deceptively happy song about the desolation that follows a lover's departure, to "Spoonful of Sugar," a little valentine with a heartbreakingly simple chorus ("She's so sweet/To me"), Of Montreal rework the typical relationship lyric into a constantly sweet, swoony gem.
Barnes has a way with stories that is more reminiscent of picture book authors Eric Carle or Jon Sciezca than most of his musical contemporaries. In "Ira's Brief Life as a Spider," he narrates a story of a mute baby spider who dies because he drinks from a lake on his tongue. The nurses who find him hold a funeral with a "brief but moving requiem." The spider is later reincarnated. Barnes' imagery is such that one can practically see the sad, furry spider, with gawky-eyed banjo players dressed as nurses playing the musical accompaniment.
The elaborate play-acts Of Montreal present in their music actually translate to their live performances as well. Their endearing skits are a well-thought-out extravaganza of thematic storytelling, complete with otherworldly, candy-apple backdrops and a sprightly arsenal of instruments and character. On last year's Gay Parade tour, they began their show by marching through the bar, parade-style (of course), shouting and playing plastic kazoos. Barnes, the grease-mustached emcee of the event, introduced it all with a rousing faux Cockney accent: "We're Of Montreal, and welcome to the Gaaaaaay Parade!"
"We naturally enjoy that sort of thing. We want to do something that makes us stand out a bit 'cause there are so many rock bands. We want to do something special," says Barnes. Though the content of this tour's spunky musical skits is a secret (for the surprise factor), rest assured it has something to do with detectives, organ grinders, and props. Especially props. Of Montreal's colorful, over-the-top forestry is essential to their brilliant, layered tunes. After all, a sparklingly mysterious world inhabited by efeblums and sweet old inventors certainly needs a lot of flora.
