“Can you just fuck off?” The Unicorns’ shaggy-haired keyboard superstar Nicolas Diamonds growls, glaring at Trucker Cap Dude. Trucker Cap Dude merely gives a messy grin and takes another swig from his bourbon and coke. Who knew it would come to this.
It starts innocently enough. The Crayon Fields tinker at keyboards and emit jangly guitar noise to their particular brand of indie-pop. It’s bright, it’s earnest – and just in time for the silly season, no less. The already swelling crowd cheers enthusiastically, including one particularly excited lass who feels the need to screech at regular intervals. She’ll continue throughout the night.
Sydney’s indie golden boys Dappled Cities Fly follow, to the delight of the devoted clamouring to the front. The dynamic duo of Dappled Dave and, er, Dappled Tim coo and shriek in turn, their twisted facial expressions sunny angst personified. With their album A Smile on many a ‘Best of 2004’ list, people sing along loudly down the front and nod along dreamily down the back. “How about those Canadians,” Dappled Dave says at the end of the set.
How about those Canadians, indeed. The trio who hail from Montreal trail sombrely onto the stage cloaked in white, singer Diamonds in the type of lycra bodysuit your mum would make for that play where you were cast as the mystical tree fairy. Casting a wary eye over the audience, they launch straight into it with a startlingly loud blind fury. Startling ‘cause, like, when did pale skinny boys making fairytale slacker indie rock start getting angry?
Since tonight. Between songs, while The Unicorns try out a little banter and everyone stands around awkwardly, a large man with mirrored sunnies on top of his green trucker cap (henceforth known as Trucker Cap Dude), well-lubricated with grog, roars with sarcastic drunken laughter. The Unicorns, they do not like. They pause. “Wow, I didn’t realise we were doing stand-up comedy,” guitarist Alden Ginger deadpans.
Words are exchanged. “What are you doing, man?” “Blueeedsgeoikgjnkfgh!” “Can you just fuck off?” The Unicorns’ shaggy-haired keyboard superstar Nicolas Diamonds growls, glaring at Trucker Cap Dude. Trucker Cap Dude merely gives a messy grin and takes another swig from his bourbon and coke. Frustrated, Diamonds pounds out the opening keyboard blips of Jellybones at a coked-up speed, like each key is Trucker Cap Dude’s face.
Partway through a bizarre three-way faux phone conversation takes place on stage involving Australia and time travel. Of course. They’re The Unicorns. Diamonds plucks various items from the audience – a fake beard, an eye patch, a cowboy hat from the barman’s head – and solemnly puts them on. He looks a bit like Pirate Jesus about to get on a horse. He hits the keys. The onslaught continues.
Old and new songs alike are played with a sickly menacing intent, instruments pounded brashly like they’re out to kill your pet hamster. It’s initially disconcerting, considering their sweet sounds on record, but once you accept the fact that these particular indie boys don’t play nice, it’s a wild rollercoaster of trashy offensive frivolity – think Jerry Springer Comes To Indietown!
Trucker Cap Dude is invited on stage. Diamonds scoffs, “His one moment of glory in his life and I bet he has nothing to say,” as Trucker Cap Dude sways and blinks in the stage lights. “Rice is cheap!” he slurs triumphantly. We all cringe. He’s booted off and set closer I Was Born (A Unicorn) is banged out, with demands for everyone to sing louder. Some people leave bemused, others outraged that The Unicorns didn’t smile politely and gaze at their shoes the entire set like good little indie boys do. But what would be the point of that?
