Ant Williams

Animal Collective Review

Animal Collective
Spirit They're Gone, Spirit They've Finished / Danse Manatee
(Fat Cat Splinter Series)

"This stands as the best new release by an unknown artist yet this year" - Other Music; "Avey and Panda's music shines and glows with that strange power, making their record the discovery of the year" - Time Out New York; "'Spirit They're Gone, Spirit They've Vanished' is not only outstanding, but one of the most original sounding albums out there" - Pitchfork.

The first set in this double-album re-release has obviously made quite an impact on most reviewers, which is one reason this critique has been somewhat delayed. For your humble scribe, the experience of Animal Collective has been so much less than other documented opinions suggested it would be; leading to repeated listens and repeated efforts to hear the 'magic' that, apparently, lay within these slices of psychedelic-electronic-folk-pop experimentation. What am I missing here?

The defacto title-track on disc one, "Spirit They've Vanished", is a somewhat misleading first taste, with the fizz, crackle 'n' pop of an electronically generated (ebb 'n') flow rubbing against a psych-glam pop song to most impressive effect. Biographical references to the fabulous Fennesz make perfect sense here, but the electronic textures used elsewhere are decidedly retro, or irritating, in comparison.

"April And The Phantom" is a truer representation of the outfit's approach; nursery-rhyme, (annoyingly) treble-friendly keyboard melodies, skittering drums and an aggressively strummed acoustic guitar generating the instrumental fog in which vocalist Avey Tare explores the loss of childhood innocence. At turns, the resultant sound is clever, primal, punky and/or trippy, and it's certainly original. What's lacking, to these ears at least, is a genuine emotional resonance; Animal Collective's deliberately infantile expression of childhood trauma making little connection with the deeper heart-and-mind receptors that attach to these ears.

Admittedly, "Penny Dreadfuls" (Bowie-esque, piano balladry) and "Chocolate Girl"; (melodies AND structure!) are exceptions to that claim; both tracks massaging the heart-strings with an undeniable, and undefiled, melancholic beauty. Such restraint is a rare commodity elsewhere, with "La Rapet" losing its way after euphoric beginnings, and "Bat You'll Fly" finding its four-four feet for a walk down Sesame Street (on acid, of course). The 12-minute closer that is "Alvin Row" could be a highlight track, if the indulgent wanderings of its opening seven minutes don't lose you first.

Indeed, an ability to indulge the outfit - Tare, Panda Bear, Geologist and Deaken - in its sense of playful exploration will make or break your experience with Animal Collective. And if Spirit They're Gone, Spirit They've Finished leaves you unconvinced (and somewhat concerned about your reviewing cred), Danse Manatee - on disc two -certainly won't win you over.

The band's reportedly 'more organic' second album was recorded after Geologist (aka Brian Weitz) joined the original duo of Tare and Panda Bear, adding 'live electronics and incidental vocals' to the live shows. In the studio, though, the trio seems to have tossed-off a dozen tracks that, for the most part, sound like undeveloped ideas and improvised song fragments; the much shorter running times seeming to correspond with that sort of preparation.

"Essplode" is the first sign of melody and structure, and works well as a tidy, sub-three-and-a-half-minute psychedelic pop song. But whatever strength Danse Manatee gains at track four is immediately dissipated by track five, "Meet The Light Child" (eight-plus minutes of the most utterly aimless indulgence - otherwise known as 'crap' - you'll hear). From there, it's abstract outer-limits ahoy for Animal Collective, with the psych-hymn of "Ahhh Good Country" being the only concession to actual song-craft.

Of course, the majority of critical opinion - and the delay that resulted from your humble scribe's consternation about presenting this voice of dissent - probably means that you've already discovered Animal Collective for yourself. So if you're scratching your head and wondering what all the fuss is about; well, this one's for you.

Pedro

Pedro's debut album is book-ended by two gorgeously melodic, and melancholic, piano pieces; making for a statement of sonic intent that begins and ends in the beauty of organic melody. In the journey between those points, Pedro (aka James Rutledge) unites his passion for 'traditional' musical forms and organic instrumentation, and for cutting-edge electronic production, with rare aplomb.

Indeed, the 'folktronica' tag could certainly be applied to a number of tracks here, with the hip-hop beats, acoustic guitar and lush harp strums of "Fear & Resilience" instantly bringing Four Tet's sublime Rounds album to mind (a free-jazz interlude momentarily spooking the looming spectre of influence). "All Things Rendered" and "Seven Eight" are also reminiscent of Kieran Hebden's genre-defining work at times, but Rutledge - elsewhere and even within these tracks - casts his influence net much further than 'folktronica' can adequately describe.

There's the subtle, late-night mood-groove of "Dead Grass", the ear-boggling slice 'n' dice processing and Eastern flavour of "These Pixels Weave A Person", and the jazz-blasted, multi-layered beatscape of "123" (a track which evokes the masterful sampling of DJ Shadow). Pedro has also infused a general sense of playfulness across the album, creating a soundtrack for both quiet reflection and heart-and-mind spirit raising. It's a debut with remarkable depth.