At the moment, nothing short of wide-scale environmental catastrophe could stop the creative stampede that is Animal Collective. The NYC-based group has been the apple of many a critic’s eye since the twisted forest romps of 2003’s Here Comes the Indian and Beach Boys-inflected follow-ups Sung Tongs and Feels. With Strawberry Jam they continue their search for novel ways of communicating in the language of pop, resulting in their most approachable dialect to date.
To enjoy Jam’s sweet spots, you’ll have to do some digging. Opener “Peacebone” blindsides the listener with a tangled web of bleeps and buzzes—racket most bands wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot mic stand. But don’t hit skip just yet. The band molds the static into a palpitating rhythm and delivers some of their most straightforward melodies to date. The genius of Animal Collective—especially on Strawberry Jam—is how they use what most bands would consider musical detritus as the building blocks for songs—pop songs, no less.
The personalities of the band’s primary vocalists, Avey Tare and Panda Bear, are more distinct on Jam than on any previous AC release. Avey dishes out oblique lyricism, equal parts tongue twisters (“I was a jugular vein in a juggler’s girl”) and non sequiturs (“I was dreaming of just you / Now our cereal / It is warm), while Panda indulges in the simpler joys of youthful melodies. Still, Jam’s best songs—quivering giants “For Reverend Green” and “Fireworks”—find all four members locked in as a unit, complementing each other at every turn.
The verbose “Winter Wonder Land” and art-damaged “Cuckoo Cuckoo” unfortunately pale in comparison to “Green” and “Fireworks,” though most songs would. But even with these slight missteps, Strawberry Jam remains a contender for album of the year, an accomplishment that has become routine for one of the decade’s greatest bands.
