"Painting With" Animal Collective Reviewed
From left to right: The Guy Who Stands Out Because He's Doing Something A Little Different From The Rest of Them; The Straight Man; The Clown; The Guy Who's There Only Sometimes
It’s like you open an ornate, bejeweled music box and find three figures inside – Avey Tare, Panda Bear and The Geologist.
They’re spinning around and around, hopping up and down to syncopated rhythms. They’re wearing loud suits and top hats and carrying canes.
“Painting With,” Animal Collective’s tenth studio album, sounds like the Marx Brothers playing the Vaudeville circuit, if the Marx Brothers played music that was equal parts hip-hop, sunny Sixties pop and the 1940 far-out Czech comedy “Baron Prasil.”
Album opener “Floridada” is a bouncy, splashy ode to the dangerous lure and natural beauty of the Sunshine State. Avey Tare told Newsweek he was tired of hearing everyone shit on Florida, so they captured its glow in a bottle. The lyrics warn of judgment and barriers. The sounds of the synth sound splotchy and wet – these are the big globs of paint splashing onto the canvas.
The band was influenced by Cubist artists, who elegantly, subtly distort our perception of ordinary objects. In this album, Animal Collective takes hints of melodies and rhythms we know and distorts them to the point where they sound both new and ever so slightly familiar. It strikes me as the mark of honest songwriting to not only acknowledge that any new creation may remind you of an old one, but to embrace this. Yes, these harmonies on “Hocus Pocus” move in thirds and you instantly think of early Beatles songs, but the dinosaur newscast which begins the song makes you laugh out loud in surprise.
Avey told this very confused European interviewer that he is influenced by the honesty of Tin Pan Alley songwriters like Irving Berlin. This music is meant to put on a good-time show, to make you forget your worries, to get you bouncing in your seat. The darkest moments occur during two excellent numbers: “The Burglars” and “Bagels in Kiev.” But they’re only dark in that Avey’s keyboard lines lack the ultra-brite quality of Panda’s harmonies. Nothing sinister on this album.
This is probably what our esteemed Pitchfork reviewer meant when he called it “Animal Collective: The Ride.” Today’s roller coaster is yesteryear’s live theater. There is a sheen to these songs, but it doesn’t feel inauthentic. Panda Bear called it their “techno Ramones” record. These songs still intensify in that signature way, bringing the crowd to fever pitch. But then they disappear so quickly.
The third track, “Vertical,” sounds like a Beyonce single from outer space. Its refrain is ‘The parking lot is way too hot’ – you can almost hear the hashtag (I ain’t mad about it). ‘I got hot sauce in my bag/ swag’
The first time I heard “Natural Selection,” something popped inside of my eardrum. This song, together with “Spilling Guts” and “Summing the Wretch” comprise the most troublesome moments on this album. I’ve spent many years defending Panda Bear to all haters, and I will continue to do so, even when I feel on the fence. The chief complaint I’ve been hearing is that Panda is phoning this record in. People said the same thing when the last album came out, and “Painting With” is a step in the right direction.
In these songs, Panda’s vocals do that dizzying thing your eyes do when you get panicked (or too high) – they ping-pong around and around, and insanity seems right around the corner. He makes you put forth serious effort in listening to hear his rich melodies and harmonies, scattered about in a million different pieces like they are.
The constant ping-pong vocal effect feels redundant two tracks in a row. But this can be overlooked when there are moments like “On Delay.” Avey and Panda’s voices meld into one stream of air. “It was nice/ It happened twice” Then there’s that ending, when Panda provides a counter melody that sends the song soaring.
Let’s talk about “Recycling,” the album’s closer. I’ve often said Panda Bear’s voice sounds like the gates of heaven as they’re opening to admit new patrons. His voice has a quality that is simultaneously somber and jubilant. If this album is meant to cheer us up after a time down in the dumps, Avey’s doing it with little winks and nods, chucking us on the chin and almost kicking us in the ass to keep dancing. Panda’s pumping us full of strength and courage with just that voice over a driving backbeat. When I listen to this song on a jog, it fills me with a bittersweet reminiscence of triumph over sadness. And it’s beautiful, yet probably strange to watch.
Another complaint I’ve fielded is that this album officially marks a departure from the wild, chaotic energy of past projects, Avey all a’yelping, Panda banging on some cans. This is true. The album is so thickly layered it’s impossible to wade through with ease. It still contains that early wild, frenetic energy, but it’s more controlled now. These dudes are growing up after all; existing may feel easier, so there aren’t as many reasons to shriek. Still, this album demands the listener’s full attention. Good luck trying to talk or sometimes think over this album.
I’ll close with some extremely emotion-packed lines about my favorite track “Golden Gal.” The album was recorded in the same room Brian Wilson wrote “Pet Sounds” and “Smile,” and you can hear it on this track. Avey says this song was inspired by his desire to build up his girlfriend (and all the women in the world by proxy), to erase the blows she suffers for being a woman in the world today. “Girl power,” he said. The first time I heard this song, my heart exploded everywhere. That’s because of the particular female virtues he extols – complexity and bravery. What woman hasn’t questioned herself on these issues: is my personality too complicated for a man? Does my strength emasculate him? And Avey’s like, You do you, and I’m going to bask in the glow of your soul for a while, no pressure. The stuff of dreams!
For nearly two decades, the members of Animal Collective have provided us with raw and honest glimpses into their lives, their emotions and pasts only partially concealed by vocal delay. People have used words like primitive and said this album was influenced by cave drawings. Their whole catalog sounds to me like childhood -- those wails, those drawn out moments feel bittersweet. Remember how long each day used to feel when we were growing up? We could remember every little thing that happened that week. Now we get off the toilet and sixty whole minutes have slipped into the ether.
In Animal Collective songs we find things we can hold onto and use in our own lives, little rewards peppered in for listening close enough. And then we get sucked down that rabbit hole until we wake up and shake our heads. “What was that?”
“Painting With” is no exception. These songs were written by people who have experimented down in the depths of frustration, confusion and sadness. And now they’ve slowly pulled their heads out of the sand. The sunlight catches the grains falling out of their hair and turns it to gold. The ocean tide more than beckons. We gon’ be alright.