The Unicorns

written February 2004

Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone? (Alien8 Records)

The Unicorns are cute. Not cute as in "OMG they're so cute I could die!" but in that "that's my kid brother, aren't they cute? They fuckin' kick ass!" kinda way. Someone on a messageboard once insinuated the lead singer was coasting on his Thurston Moore looks. Well, last I checked, Thurston wasn't winning any gorgeousness contests, and no, The Unicorns sound nothing like Sonic Youth- their charm lies elsewhere.

What do they sound like? When I first heard them at a Southpaw, Brooklyn, show (where they promptly announced to much laughter that they had just flown in from Pianos) my initial reaction was The Faint crossed with Hot Hot Heat. But that's not entirely true either. They make fun, goofy music that's hard to sing along to because there are no melodies proper. And while their lyrics have been compared to Pulp and Magnetic Fields, there is none of that wry curmudgeonly quality, the pointed observations that make those bands so wise, so tragic, so amusing.

The Unicorns are young, and horny. Before you moan thinking "bad joke" let me add they're the first to admit that the condoms they give out at shows are best used as water balloons for maximum entertainment, as they don't think anyone's getting laid that night. You gotta love their honesty. Their songs are not so much a prelude to lovemaking but a pretext to silliness and laughter, the kind you had when you were a kid before the self-consciousness set in.

Give 'em a couple of years, hell, even a decade, put them through the wringer of life, age them, let them sour, curdle a bit, expose them to the elements, and maybe they'll rise as challengers to the throne of Jarvis and Stephin. Until then, watch them prance around, smile at their rainbows, hang crystals to reflect their light that shines with all its might, and hope some clumsy idiot won't break off their horn before it's time.

Relaxed Muscle

written February 2004

A Heavy Nite With... (Rough Trade Records)

I just might have a music angel (well, maybe a mere mortal music fan) who seems to get rid of cds just when I need them. Found this in the used bin ($11, which is not exactly cheap for used, but whatever). It's hilarious, the electro side project from Jarvis Cocker, Pulp's frontman, here referred to as "Darren Spooner."

Remember the scene in Austin Powers where he's on the revolving bed in all his hirsute glory, trying to seduce Elizabeth Hurley, and you're laughing at his outdated yet utterly eager methods, charmed despite yourself? RM is sexy like that-- it shouldn't be, yet there's something about it that oddly turns you on, even while you're laughing. Think "men in stained raincoats" who are not ashamed of but rather revel in their perversity, and sing about it in skeleton suits, embracing their dark side. It works because they are neither desparate nor pretending not to care. This is the sound of someone who has come to terms with The Fear, allright? They take it one day at a time, they take it with a serving of sex on the side, and in the meantime, dryly comment that they may outlive their children after all. You know, just your regular pop record.

At times, Relaxed Muscle sounds like a raunchier Depeche Mode, or synthier T-Rex. There are dashes of Love and Rockets, Pop Will Eat Itself, a sprinkling of the Jesus and Mary Chain drone, maybe even a touch of Pulp itself, had they been two cocky dudes writing shrill girl group songs for the 21st century, perhaps. Only one thing is for sure, your ass will shake. How you do it is up to you.

© 2004 Melis Alemdar. Comments? Email me.

/End cd reviews part two.