Music: Lose yourself in Mika's devious cartoon-pop world

Some turn to food or drink when they're bumming out.

For me, a healthy dose of the British pop sensation Mika, playing Sunday at the Electric Factory, brings back the smiles.

What does Mika (pronounced Me-kah) sound like? Imagine Freddie Mercury living in a "Yellow Submarine" world. Think of an androgynous cutie with an amazingly pliant voice and giddy tune sense, foisting musical visions so flamboyant and bright you gotta wear shades.

On the surface, Mika's stuff seems cartoony. Yet it reeks of devilishness at the core. Kinda like what Mika's "strong, storytelling" role models - Mercury, Prince, Michael Jackson, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and the Rat Pack among them - have laid on the world.

Born 25 years ago as Michael Holbrook Penniman Jr. in war-torn Beirut to a Lebanese mom and an American dad, Mika was raised (with ongoing calamities) in Paris and then London.

String-bean thin and eccentric, the kid was so bullied in his British school he lost the ability to read and even speak and had to be home-schooled. Music became his salvation. From age 12, he started singing in opera productions. That landed him a spot at the Royal College of Music. An advertising jingle for Orbit chewing gum became his first compositional claim to fame.

The world started paying attention two years ago with Mika's aptly named album "Life in Cartoon Motion," and especially the British chart-topping operatic spoof "Grace Kelly." Connecting himself to the demurely typecast actress/princess with the secret wild side, the song was Mika's plea to his record label to let him be who he really was.

Also grabbing attention on his debut was the not so "Happy Ending," a bittersweet ballad now performed by many a collegiate a cappella group, the Offenbach-ish romp "Love Today" and the winking "Billy Brown," a music-hall novelty about a married man's secret homosexual passions.

On his new and equally vital sequel, "The Boy Who Knew Too Much," Mika continues with the celebrations of (largely teenage) awakening. Personal faves include the anthemic bust out "We Are Golden" (check out the video at www.mikasounds.com, fancifully illustrated by Mika's sis Jasmine, aka DaWack); the frisky, flamenco pop lesson to not "Blame It On the Girls," and the haunting wake-up call "By the Time," a collaboration with Imogen Heep also likely to be embraced by singing ensembles.

Digging really deep are his Beatles-bright, analyst's couch shout-out "Dr. John" and the twisted tale of "Toy Boy." While the latter lulls with its Disney-ish arrangement, the plot line challenges perceptions of what's really cruel and perverted in this world.

No surprise, Mika proved equally thoughtful in our recent chat.

Q: What's your take on pop as a form of therapy? And how do you feel about pop as a devious force to get messages across?

A: Music should give you a feeling of hope, beyond the parameters of do you have money, or how well do you do at something in comparison with other people. That's the power of melody, to lift you up. The most powerful thing about pop is you can hoodwink people into thinking and talking about things they wouldn't want to talk about. Deviousness gives it depth, purpose, whether it's ABBA or the Beatles.

Harry Nilsson was maybe the ultimate master, giving joy to the most bleak situation. Depeche Mode and Bronski Beat did the same. They give you the sense, "I don't know what's happening, there's no way to control it, but I can still dance and cry and feel free."

In my work I try and take this attitude of emotional collage, to shake people up and take them to a whole new place.

Q: How central is opera to your music?

A: I come from opera in so many ways. My first job at age 12 was singing in Strauss' "Woman Without a Shade." I also did a lot of contemporary works. I couldn't read music, but I was good at memorization. That got me into the Royal College of Music, where I studied till I was 20, 21.

My natural voice goes up to a high baritone, then I have this full voice falsetto, which I use a lot. I'm a simple piano player, so I found other ways to tell a story - with my voice.

Opera has so many ways of singing, from whispering to screaming. I wasn't clever enough to study composition. I wanted to write movie music but they wouldn't let me do the course because I'm dyslexic. But here, too, my ear for melody, my skill at memory, pulls me through.

Q: How much are you involved with the cartoon visuals for your album artwork and music videos?

A: Conceptually, it's a 50-50 collaboration with my sister, though now she does most of the painting and drawing. In my mind, the visuals should work in the same way as pop. I look at comic books as having a similar style of illustration. Both rely on bold, black outlines and a direct, populist style that can't be spelled out, that's immediate but implied.

Q: How did you avoid the jinx of the "sophomore" album?

A: I had to promise myself I'd always take risks, never prioritize commercial desires, of which I have many. The reason so many second albums are bad - they're not bad albums, they were effectively made, but they're just boring.

By taking chances, I risk commercial failure. But if you look at it from the perspective of a 20-year career, which I hope to have, the second album forms part of the arc. It doesn't stop there.

Q: While your albums layer in vocal ensembles and orchestral flourishes, I'm guessing that's not part of your stage show, right?

A: Live, we're just six people but still creating a world of our own. Would I love to have a string section and chorus on stage? Sure. In fact, I'm doing this [BBC] Radio 2 concert in November with the King's Singers that we're also going to record, that was partly inspired by all the a cappella groups now doing my material.

At the heart, the live performance thing should exist with just me and a piano. If you can't get everything across with that, it's not working. But our show is a hybrid between concert and theater. It's got its share of surprises, twists and turns, with a bit of puppetry, some pyro moments. I have no shame. I believe you should go to a show and feel immersed in my world, in this feeling of hyper-reality.

Electric Factory, 7th and Willow streets, 8 p.m. Sunday, $29.50, 215-336-2000, www.livenation.com.