bruit

I am eating passion fruit ice cream made of coconut milk, which is genius, and thinking about other genius, and so joining the chorus of praise for Merriweather Post Pavillion. I have never found Animal Collective's music so very "difficult," had the good luck of reveling in the joyful energy of a couple of early-ish and more intimate live shows (an an awkward experience feeding the band burritos, ask me about it sometime). Anyway all the hubbub about how accessible this work is feels a bit irrelevant to me personally, because in the room with the music played live, it was/is(?) so natural to feel alive and a part of something alive. A real alchemy and a kind of spiritualism, that makes you feel weird and good.

The triumph of this album is distilling all that into a piece of recorded music. This operation required that craft take the place of mojo--no small challenge. Craft at that level necessarily calibrates (but does not diminish) the weirdness and foregrounds the goodness. But that is not what I meant to write about. 

What I meant to write about is the play between the music and lyrics of "My Girls." Sonically, it is a kind of outer-space euphoria, this song. The kind that, on headphones, makes a commute feel like a trip to church--for someone who loves church. (See also: Alice Coltrane's "Lovely Sky Boat" and "Oceanic Beloved" on A Monastic Trio.)

AC's towering and tumbling excess advance a lyrical statement that when you have a family, your needs and desires change and grow, but can still remain simple, and that what children need is love and presence. Very rock and roll, no? trés avant garde. Something about the juxtaposition is really gorgeous to me, outlandish techne in the service of simplicity and a veneration of home--that sort of play permeates the album. In checking out the Pitchfork review before posting, I found that I agree with their assessment of how the lyrics are operating here.