Remember when feisty troublemakers snatched a bust of Socrates from a local university, anointed him comrade, drank him silly, then deposited his wine-stained skull at a bus stop? Now imagine toting CoCoRosie around on a Saturday night: The sisters Cassidy would snigger and twist, tug their pink tutus, puff skinny cigarettes, suck cherries. But there’d be no vicious end-of-night dumping—CoCoRosie are far too keyed into giggly empowerment.
Disenchanted expats with an apartment in Paris, Sierra and Bianca Cassidy boast an eerie penchant for causticity and things that sparkle: On their winsome debut, La Maison de Mon Rêve, CoCoRosie primly admit they’d “wear your black eyes, bake you apple pies” in exchange for a diamond ring. Appropriately, the album marries swampy folk warbles and cagey feminist-or-not rants with acoustic guitars, bits of synth, awkward beats, and softly bleating toys. What results is impossibly weird, but its fey music-box melodies and deceptively innocent coos ooze just enough archaic charm to effectively seduce nonbelievers.