Music Box | Animal Collective

Mike Newmark Columnist

Animal Collective
Strawberry Jam
[Domino]

For all of Animal Collective’s stylistic leapfrogging over the course of six albums, one could reductively say that their career has been a steady trajectory toward accessibility. “Accessibility” is, of course, a relative term, and it depends on who you ask; there are some for whom the Collective’s shrieking vocals, unconventional riffing and fried electronics will never feel welcoming. But many of the band’s latest songs are accessible in that they utilize elements typically found in a pop song, such as beats, choruses, and decipherable lyrics. To hear their newest music in the context of their alternately formless and vitrified early work is basically to witness two entirely different bands.

Feels (2005) was much more rockish than anything Animal Collective previously allowed themselves to do, though they still traded off between tribal, ADD pop and soupy ambient pieces. (I was slow on the uptake with these at first, but they offer great rewards down the line.) The band must have realized that their pop songs best held listeners’ interest, because Strawberry Jam is almost entirely comprised of them. Interestingly, though, the nature of the pop is different. Instead of the shimmering, rounded tones that caress you as they pull you toward some sort of fauna heaven, Strawberry Jam prefers to jab, not lifting you up so much as stunning you where you sit and lurching you backward. The comparison to Mercury Rev’s aberrant pop works well here; for an even better one, imagine some of the nightmarish fairy tale music on Animal Collective’s own Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished (2000) reformatted for a more mainstream setting.

Take “Peacebone,” for example. It’s an audacious way to begin an album—a demented and seriously creepy romp in which Avey Tare mentions broccoli, monsters, mildew, and other things you wouldn’t want to encounter in the bathtub, in a voice more direct and understandable than makes us feel comfortable. Speaking of which, one of the most glaring changes from Feels to Jam is the decipherability of the vocals. Those who appreciate easy-to-understand lyrics may approve, but for me, the pleasure of this band didn’t come from what was sung, but how it was sung: in shrieks, warbles, hisses and coos, befitting their bestial moniker. It cuts out a major portion of their mystery, but then, mystery isn’t where Strawberry Jam sets its crosshairs. It’s a record that’s meant to be stared at in awe, not a place to explore.

To that end, Strawberry Jam has some choice moments. “Fireworks” is the one song here that’s incredible the whole way through—a sweetly lovelorn track whose emphatic vocals help it reach near-“Purple Bottle” levels of exultation. “Derek” has the feel of a typical Animal Collective B-side before its amazing second half, where Panda Bear chants scales over a stomping beat that he had to have pilfered from a hockey game. The skittish “Winter Wonderland” and the vaguely calypso “Chores” are both fresh and reminiscent of what the group did so well on their last two records. The more ambient, piano-led “Cuckoo Cuckoo” actually sounds like a blatant holdover from a time when the band was fine with seeing how long they could stretch a drone. To read the blogs and message boards, it’s everyone’s least favorite track, but for my money it’s insanely gorgeous, and I’m not ready to let Animal Collective give up the liquefied side of their personality so easily.

And then there is, of course, the question of where this sonically itinerant band will go next. I wondered the same thing after hearing Feels, believing that they’d reached both their high water mark and a dead end. Strawberry Jam seems like the only logical place they could have ended up: It’s a spinier version of Feels’ most ebullient moments, abundant in hooks and freakouts but lacking in depth. Even this late in the band’s career, though, they remain unbelievable songwriters, still turning riffs upside down and finding ways to subvert our expectations of how rock music should sound. So, my worry that Animal Collective has nowhere else to go is somewhat allayed by their creative brilliance and tireless work ethic. Besides, if Panda Bear can write Brazilified Beach Boys songs and Avey Tare can release an entire album played backwards, we’d be idiots to think that the sky wasn’t the limit.