Something I’ve never gotten the opportunity to mention in this column of mine is that Animal Collective is one of my all-time favorite bands, easily in the top five, as I consider their run from “Sung Tongs” to “Merriweather Post Pavilion” to be one of the greatest runs of albums in the history of music.
With that, we have Panda Bear–real name Noah Lennox–a Virginia-based neo-psychedelic artist and founding member of the acclaimed indie band Animal Collective. If Squid, from my last review, were indie darlings, then Animal Collective and its members are basically indie housewives–just a warm, comfortable face to come back to after a hard day at work. Of course, Animal Collective’s early output was boundary-pushing to the point of insanity, so it’s more like a housewife with a criminal history of arson … but it adds to the charm.
Panda Bear brings a distinct and warm vocal presence, with equal parts psychedelic comfort and equal parts panicked intensity. His instrumental skills only add more to the band’s stew of high-quality ingredients. When I first heard about this new record, I was downright ecstatic to crack into it. I enjoyed the last two Animal Collective projects, 2022s “Time Skiffs” and 2023s “Isn’t It Now?” Both leaned into a more progressive, back-to-basics approach for the band. Despite the 21-minute-long tracks on this new album, Panda Bear continues his artistic trajectory, with “Sinister Grift” being even more traditional—shockingly, to the album’s benefit.
The opener, “Praise,” is an easy-breezy piece of psychedelic guitar pop, jangling its way through with a rough but comforting guitar riff. Panda Bear’s syrupy, bright vocals provide a calm opening to the album. It’s impressive how comforting the track is despite being about heartbreak in a bad relationship. Panda Bear sings about his heart bending before it breaks, making sure to watch his partner “again and again and again,” so he doesn’t screw up.
Panda Bear–and Animal Collective as a whole–have an impressive ability to make typically depressing song topics into summery jams. Tracks such as “50 mg” and “Ends Meet” have tropical ‘70s vibes despite being about loneliness and bad relationships. Warm psychedelic vibes are only half of the album’s forte, with the other half being more ambient, slow-building psychedelic tracks, like “Anywhere But Here.” It’s a soft, somber guitar piece with the echo turned all the way up. The track is broken up by odd monologues spoken by a woman in Portuguese. Somehow, it actually kind of works–maybe because the woman’s voice almost blends into the plucking guitars, with her strange presence adding an idiosyncratic flair.
As much as I like the album, it is a little hard to review at length without repeating myself. Most of the tracks are pretty similar in concept, mostly built around a single guitar riff with some jangly percussion and Panda’s silky-smooth singing with added reverb. This is to the album’s benefit, though, as it adds a layer of cohesion, meaning that the occasional bridge hits even harder.
The album obviously owes a lot to its influences. Tracks like “Ferry Woman” and “Ends Meet” are pastiches of ‘60s or ’70s psych acts like The Beatles and Donovan. But hey, a motto I live by is: “If you can’t do something new, then you better do it right,” and this album does things very right. That motto also applies to “Venom’s In,” which is more twinkly and spacey, feeling a bit Deerhunter-esque at times, catchy but melancholic it is, with a little touch of guitar fuzz and reverb to make it even better.
Despite the album’s obvious influences, what it most reminds me of is Animal Collective’s 2005 album “Feels.” That album acted as a transition from the bizarre freak folk of 2004’s “Sung Tongs” to the more reserved psychedelia of 2007’s “Strawberry Jam.” “Sinister Grift” has much of the same feel as it keeps the same vibe of lonely heartache paired with ambient-influenced psychedelic pop. It shifts to a more melancholic sound after opening with more fun and poppier songs.
The ambiance reaches its peak with the two-track run of “Left In The Cold” and “Elegy For Noah Lou,” as these tracks wallow in reverb and the guitars fill the space with downbeat riffs. Panda Bear’s singing gets more fragile to compliment the sound, and it all makes for a pretty gorgeous runway before the album finishes.
The final track is “Defense,” featuring fellow guitar pop aficionado Cindy Lee. It feels like a fantastic mix of Panda Bear’s summery psychedelic pop with Cindy Lee’s colder slacker rock, leaving the album on a note that’s both ominous and comforting.
While I can’t say anything here blows me away, this is an undeniable step in the right direction from Panda Bear. He used his knowledge of the genre to make another well-crafted, addictive psychedelia album while paying tribute to his influences without leaving his own vision behind.
Author
Hello there stranger, this is Kate Megathlin, writer for weekly music reviews for the Seattle Collegian, here to assert how much more important her opinions are than yours. She is a Seattle Central student with a major love of music and music culture, and every week she’ll try to deliver reviews of new albums coming out, if you want to recommend albums for her to review, email her at Kate.Megathlin@seattlecollegian.com.
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