Have you noticed that some people have strong reactions to certain sounds, while others seem to not be bothered by them? The crying of a baby, for instance, or the popping of a balloon.
How about a noise of notes, harmonized and with song-like intention, but loud and clashing nonetheless, music that sounds like an aural storm? Can you see beauty in the eye of the hurricane?
Animal Collective’s new record, Strawberry Jam, uses strong, blaring and outright dominating notes to create its melodies. The sounds bleed like colors into the tapestry of the songs. This will be the quintessential initial put-off for most listeners because the music is more abrasive than soothing.
The bleeding of the synths and modulated instruments obscures the structure of the songs, rendering them an incomprehensible mishmash. “Unsolved Mysteries” sounds like it is being performed on a merry-go-round revolving on the ocean floor. You can practically see the bubbles effusing from singer Avey Tare’s mouth. “Winter Wonderland” sounds like it was pummeled flat by drummer Panda Bear’s pounding percussion.
But on the better songs, all the sounds combine in proportion, exposing a band that’s playing admirably tuneful pop from a unique perspective. “Derek” is eclectic and beautiful. It has the cadence of a Paul McCartney Christmas song. The end of the song — the best minute and a half of music on the record — is tribal and ritualistic, as though Tare, Bear, Deakin and Geologist are prancing around a campfire, triumphantly performing.
Tare sounds like a slightly queasy and hungover James Mercer from The Shins. His lyrical style is disjointed; he offers blocks of imagery that don’t seem to connect or juxtapose from stanza to stanza. But what more could our generation — weaned on inconsequential 20-second commercial bursts on TV — ask for? In "Peacebone," Tare’s poetry spans from the thoughtful, "And an obsession with the past is like a dead fly/ Only a few things are related to the ‘old times’/ Then we did believe in magic and we did die,” to the abject, “While half of my fingers are dipped in the sand/ You progress in letters but you’re used to cooking broccoli/ The other side of takeout is mildew on rice."
Animal Collective deserves credit, however, for creating something new and divergent by today’s standards. Instead of reflecting a mirror image of its audience (for instance, marketing to it like many pop groups do) Strawberry Jam projects itself honestly. There are no soul-selling yearnings for acceptance here, and this isn’t speculation. Animal Collective released its records off indie labels, allowing the flexibility to pursue its adventurous ideas. “Cuckoo Cuckoo” is half-song and half-ambiance from what sounds like a dentist office.
The fact remains that Animal Collective’s sound can be too quirky for its own good. The subtlety that one would want to exist in Beatles-esque melodies such as “Fireworks” is torn asunder by the towering notes that crash therein. So, despite that many songs sound like a musical equivalent to a wannabe Jackson Pollack painting, the record is saved from failure thanks to those moments where Animal Collective gets it right: the synths, guitars, drum and voice all meeting in proportion, achieving a singular, pleasing context.
Strawberry Jam is not a recommendable record because it won’t catch too easily for most listeners. There are around 15 minutes of palatable songcraft out of the 43 and a half minutes of the record. The other 28 minutes are stark — more of an art statement than music — and that’s not what Johnny College Boy is craving when he puts his Apple earbuds on.
