Back in 2007, Person Pitch – Panda Bear’s third solo record and big sloppy hug to the world – won accolades aplenty, while steering the band from which he was moonlighting (a little thing called Animal Collective) onto the sampler-laden trajectory that produced the exploding star highlight of 2009, Merriweather Post Pavilion. Panda Bear has a new album now. It’s called Tomboy. It’s very, very good.
Gone are the samples and random snippets that punctuated Person Pitch; the haphazard-collage-of-sonic-elements kind of approach is ditched, supplanted by lushly-rendered monolithic blocs of vividly shimmering texture. Similarly, the DJ and techno influences that riddled his previous album (particularly its sprawling centrepiece ‘Bros’) have been submerged within the pop structure that defined the songs of Merriweather Post Pavilion.
But Tomboy is certainly not Merriweather MK II; Panda Bear, AKA Noah Lennox, squeezes an extraordinary range of sounds out of his machinery, forsaking the samplers in favour of a simpler trick; playing his guitar through a synth module. ‘You Can Count On Me’, a message from father to newborn son, provides an intimately heartstring-tugging prelude, before the record is kicked off in earnest with the thundering anthem of ‘Tomboy’. A regal air is struck with the leisurely stroll along the promenade of ‘Last Night At The Jetty’, while a soft climax is reached with the wind chime-laden dirge ‘Scheherazade’, in which Lennox’ tendency towards minimalism reaches its apex with gently lulling style.
Panda Bear has achieved a kind of sonic perfection on this record. The oft-made comparison to Brian Wilson has never seemed more apt, with his opulent sound achieved through an apparent compulsion to create Phil Spector-ish levels of production flawlessness. While it is possible to overdose on overwhelmingly euphoric, vibrant sound, Lennox dares you to try.
The folks over at NPR are being good enough to stream Tomboy in its entirety for your listening pleasure. Have at it!
First published as Album of the Week in The Brag, Iss. 405, April 4th 2011
Showing posts with label Animal Collective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Animal Collective. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Monday, November 29, 2010
Avey Tare - Down There
Avey Tare
Down There
****
The problem with getting high is that, by and large, most people have an unfortunate tendency to come crashing down again. Having heaved themselves up to the top of the indie heap with last year’s soaringly optimistic Merriweather Post Pavilion, Animal Collective’s various members seem to be working through the issues brought to the surface by rapid success in their own idiosyncratic ways. While Panda Bear continues to produce stellar solo work, enjoying the odd dalliance with the likes of Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox along the way, Avey Tare (Dave Portner, to his mum) has exorcised any iniquitous spirits that may’ve been bothering him by bottling them in his own solo release, the appropriately named Down There.
“Down there”, announces a cybernetic voice at the start of opener ‘Laughing Hieroglyphic,’ before breaking into maniacal laughter. “One of these might jump out and do you in,” observes a demonic one through the murk at its close, a track that otherwise might be the downbeat country cousin of ‘Summertime Clothes’. It signals the gloom-laden quicksand to follow.
Third track ‘Oliver Twist’ makes good on this promise, sinking down with the gators and squelching methane, as does ‘Cemeteries’, as Tare stares back at the world from the cocoon of a waterlogged grave.While there are more than a few moments of the macabre here, the itchy helplessness of ‘Heather In The Hospital’ is easily the blackest spot as well as the most poignant, leading into the sunny-side up ending of ‘Lucky 1’.
Tare has bared his wriggling neuroses to the light, with results that are oppressive, introverted and weird. Highly recommended.
First Published in The Brag, Iss. 389, November 29th 2010
Down There
****
The problem with getting high is that, by and large, most people have an unfortunate tendency to come crashing down again. Having heaved themselves up to the top of the indie heap with last year’s soaringly optimistic Merriweather Post Pavilion, Animal Collective’s various members seem to be working through the issues brought to the surface by rapid success in their own idiosyncratic ways. While Panda Bear continues to produce stellar solo work, enjoying the odd dalliance with the likes of Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox along the way, Avey Tare (Dave Portner, to his mum) has exorcised any iniquitous spirits that may’ve been bothering him by bottling them in his own solo release, the appropriately named Down There.
“Down there”, announces a cybernetic voice at the start of opener ‘Laughing Hieroglyphic,’ before breaking into maniacal laughter. “One of these might jump out and do you in,” observes a demonic one through the murk at its close, a track that otherwise might be the downbeat country cousin of ‘Summertime Clothes’. It signals the gloom-laden quicksand to follow.
Third track ‘Oliver Twist’ makes good on this promise, sinking down with the gators and squelching methane, as does ‘Cemeteries’, as Tare stares back at the world from the cocoon of a waterlogged grave.While there are more than a few moments of the macabre here, the itchy helplessness of ‘Heather In The Hospital’ is easily the blackest spot as well as the most poignant, leading into the sunny-side up ending of ‘Lucky 1’.
Tare has bared his wriggling neuroses to the light, with results that are oppressive, introverted and weird. Highly recommended.
First Published in The Brag, Iss. 389, November 29th 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Colour and Light - kyü
If they were characters in a sprawling nineteenth century novel, Alyx Dennison and Freya Berkhout might be described as ‘ardent spirits’. As kyü, the electronic pop project that brought them together, the pair impart a sense of limitless expansion; they’re brave enough to allow themselves to be led musically by a shared sense of epiphany, following their instincts towards a point of revelation in a way that is endearingly vulnerable, completely genuine and utterly captivating.
When they aren’t doing that, they do things like bake brownies, listen to the Spice Girls and watch Doctor Who. Alyx does convincing impersonations, and also likes to paint. Freya speaks Hindi and aspires to make film soundtracks. Both would like to travel more; both are buoyant, bright-faced, smiley-eyed and completely disarming to talk to. And then of course there’s the small fact that they’ve created one of the most exciting sounds to come out of Sydney in a very long time.
kyü came together at the beginning of 2009 as a swift consequence of the duo’s newly-fledged friendship. Alyx needed someone with a student card to enter the Sydney University band comp, and Freya volunteered. Although their initial attempt at rehearsal was “pretty awful”, a second try produced their now-signature song, ‘Sunny in Splodges’, in just a couple of hours. Realising that they didn’t have enough material, and with the band comp imminent, they wrote almost all of the material that makes up their self-titled and full-length debut release in a single creative burst, the week before the first heat. Legend has it they reduced a judge to tears the night they won the grand final.
“We never consciously made a decision to be that band” says Alyx. “We never thought ‘oh let’s be experimental’ or ‘tribal’ – all those phrases really weird us out … It really kind of evolved naturally, it was all stuff that was lying around the studio as well.” She says that the week before the band comp they felt as though they were waiting for something to start: “We refer to that period of our life as limbo.”
Plural personal pronouns are par for the course for kyü, both girls picking up each other’s sentences, filling out the other’s thoughts and chasing each other down inviting tangential trails – so that it often becomes difficult to determine who said what. The impression of a single mind at work is at times uncanny, each being the perfect foil for the other. And they don’t disagree. “We are one brain when we’re writing,” says Alyx, “it’s a strange experience.” “It’s weird though,” adds Freya, “they’re not the same – they’re so different that they just fit together.”
Although Freya has had the benefit of formal vocal training, Alyx is essentially self-taught. Each arrived at similar musical conclusions by circuitous routes of their own. Both have a solid grounding in the Western classical canon – Alyx admits to an (as yet) unrequited love for Beethoven, while Freya thinks that Mahler’s 5th Symphony has “the most amazing chord progression in the history of the world”. But they also draw inspiration from sources as diverse as Indian classical music and the soundtrack to Akira, while being rabid fans of bands like Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear.
Not that the kyü sound can be reduced to a catalogue of influences; their lush mix of electronics, synths, glockenspiel, drums and strong, startling vocals produce an almost primal alchemy. But both are quick to dismiss any accusations of derivation on the one hand, or originality on the other. “People say we’re like Björk or Fever Ray” comments Alyx, “not because we are, but because we’re girls who’re belting… We do stuff with our voices that isn’t particularly dignified or pretty – we use our voices instrumentally,” she explains, before Freya continues: “I don’t think our music is hard to listen to. Some of it isn’t middle of the road, but it’s not ‘pushing boundaries’. If we’re experimental it’s because of the way we sing – but it’s not like no one’s done it before.”
Either way, an air of timelessness pervades the kyü LP. Dan Johnston (of local folk rockers Big Smoky) drew on his filmic sound design background to lend the recording an almost cinematic sense of space. Suggesting a shifting series of emotional states rather than any conscious narrative, the music nonetheless follows a definite arc, moving from the midnight awakening of ‘Sistar’ through to the ecstatic dissolution of ego in ‘Sunny In Splodges’.
“We spent a lot of time designing the track listing,” says Freya. “I hate the word ‘journey’, but there’s a progression … It is projections from the same time. It’s all a response to the same thing in our life.” Which was? “When we met each other, a new life really did start for us,” she explains. “We were meeting new people, and just kind of finding the ropes with them and ‘our sound’ … [It was] the most amazing, crazy time.” ‘New people’ here is a euphemism for the fellas from local group Megastick Fanfare, who provided the catalyst that kyü bonded over. “They’re the reason why we started. We just decided to go to every show. We wouldn’t be making the music we’re making if we didn’t have them in our lives.”
While a Megastick collaboration is still up in the air, the girls have been open to allowing other musical cross-pollinations to occur – a stint as the guests of Parades lead to friendship and mutual remixes with Jonathan Boulet (“I don’t think anything anywhere will ever be as good” says Freya of his kyü remix, “it’s going to blow everyone’s minds”), both drawing inspiration from the local music scene. “Sydney music is amazing” declares Alyx, “the world’ll catch on soon.”
Since their victory at Manning, kyü have had a crash course in performing, refining their act and building confidence while supporting local lights, as well as opening for an increasingly high profile series of touring groups including Why?, Yeasayer and High Places. “I would like people to love it or hate it, because I don’t want anyone to feel middle of the road.” says Freya. “And I think so far we’ve had pretty good evidence of that. There are people who love us and there’s people who detest us – and we just want to send out love to those guys. We love you guys!”
With things off to a sparkling start, for kyü the future seems alight with possibility. So, what’s next? “I think things will be happier, brighter maybe,” muses Freya. “We’ve been through a lot since we met, and have evolved a lot as people and evolved a lot as musicians and songwriters. We wrote a song recently which is really different. Vocally it’ll be a bit more weird.”
“Stimulation is to be had before we do any more writing” adds Alyx. “We’ve written about everything around us, about the things that we love and the people we love and the things that we’re doing – and now we need to move on and do other things.”
First published in The Brag (Cover Feature), Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
When they aren’t doing that, they do things like bake brownies, listen to the Spice Girls and watch Doctor Who. Alyx does convincing impersonations, and also likes to paint. Freya speaks Hindi and aspires to make film soundtracks. Both would like to travel more; both are buoyant, bright-faced, smiley-eyed and completely disarming to talk to. And then of course there’s the small fact that they’ve created one of the most exciting sounds to come out of Sydney in a very long time.
kyü came together at the beginning of 2009 as a swift consequence of the duo’s newly-fledged friendship. Alyx needed someone with a student card to enter the Sydney University band comp, and Freya volunteered. Although their initial attempt at rehearsal was “pretty awful”, a second try produced their now-signature song, ‘Sunny in Splodges’, in just a couple of hours. Realising that they didn’t have enough material, and with the band comp imminent, they wrote almost all of the material that makes up their self-titled and full-length debut release in a single creative burst, the week before the first heat. Legend has it they reduced a judge to tears the night they won the grand final.
“We never consciously made a decision to be that band” says Alyx. “We never thought ‘oh let’s be experimental’ or ‘tribal’ – all those phrases really weird us out … It really kind of evolved naturally, it was all stuff that was lying around the studio as well.” She says that the week before the band comp they felt as though they were waiting for something to start: “We refer to that period of our life as limbo.”
Plural personal pronouns are par for the course for kyü, both girls picking up each other’s sentences, filling out the other’s thoughts and chasing each other down inviting tangential trails – so that it often becomes difficult to determine who said what. The impression of a single mind at work is at times uncanny, each being the perfect foil for the other. And they don’t disagree. “We are one brain when we’re writing,” says Alyx, “it’s a strange experience.” “It’s weird though,” adds Freya, “they’re not the same – they’re so different that they just fit together.”
Although Freya has had the benefit of formal vocal training, Alyx is essentially self-taught. Each arrived at similar musical conclusions by circuitous routes of their own. Both have a solid grounding in the Western classical canon – Alyx admits to an (as yet) unrequited love for Beethoven, while Freya thinks that Mahler’s 5th Symphony has “the most amazing chord progression in the history of the world”. But they also draw inspiration from sources as diverse as Indian classical music and the soundtrack to Akira, while being rabid fans of bands like Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear.
Not that the kyü sound can be reduced to a catalogue of influences; their lush mix of electronics, synths, glockenspiel, drums and strong, startling vocals produce an almost primal alchemy. But both are quick to dismiss any accusations of derivation on the one hand, or originality on the other. “People say we’re like Björk or Fever Ray” comments Alyx, “not because we are, but because we’re girls who’re belting… We do stuff with our voices that isn’t particularly dignified or pretty – we use our voices instrumentally,” she explains, before Freya continues: “I don’t think our music is hard to listen to. Some of it isn’t middle of the road, but it’s not ‘pushing boundaries’. If we’re experimental it’s because of the way we sing – but it’s not like no one’s done it before.”
Either way, an air of timelessness pervades the kyü LP. Dan Johnston (of local folk rockers Big Smoky) drew on his filmic sound design background to lend the recording an almost cinematic sense of space. Suggesting a shifting series of emotional states rather than any conscious narrative, the music nonetheless follows a definite arc, moving from the midnight awakening of ‘Sistar’ through to the ecstatic dissolution of ego in ‘Sunny In Splodges’.
“We spent a lot of time designing the track listing,” says Freya. “I hate the word ‘journey’, but there’s a progression … It is projections from the same time. It’s all a response to the same thing in our life.” Which was? “When we met each other, a new life really did start for us,” she explains. “We were meeting new people, and just kind of finding the ropes with them and ‘our sound’ … [It was] the most amazing, crazy time.” ‘New people’ here is a euphemism for the fellas from local group Megastick Fanfare, who provided the catalyst that kyü bonded over. “They’re the reason why we started. We just decided to go to every show. We wouldn’t be making the music we’re making if we didn’t have them in our lives.”
While a Megastick collaboration is still up in the air, the girls have been open to allowing other musical cross-pollinations to occur – a stint as the guests of Parades lead to friendship and mutual remixes with Jonathan Boulet (“I don’t think anything anywhere will ever be as good” says Freya of his kyü remix, “it’s going to blow everyone’s minds”), both drawing inspiration from the local music scene. “Sydney music is amazing” declares Alyx, “the world’ll catch on soon.”
Since their victory at Manning, kyü have had a crash course in performing, refining their act and building confidence while supporting local lights, as well as opening for an increasingly high profile series of touring groups including Why?, Yeasayer and High Places. “I would like people to love it or hate it, because I don’t want anyone to feel middle of the road.” says Freya. “And I think so far we’ve had pretty good evidence of that. There are people who love us and there’s people who detest us – and we just want to send out love to those guys. We love you guys!”
With things off to a sparkling start, for kyü the future seems alight with possibility. So, what’s next? “I think things will be happier, brighter maybe,” muses Freya. “We’ve been through a lot since we met, and have evolved a lot as people and evolved a lot as musicians and songwriters. We wrote a song recently which is really different. Vocally it’ll be a bit more weird.”
“Stimulation is to be had before we do any more writing” adds Alyx. “We’ve written about everything around us, about the things that we love and the people we love and the things that we’re doing – and now we need to move on and do other things.”
First published in The Brag (Cover Feature), Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Ariel Pink - Ready For Feedback
To quote the Comic Book Guy, ‘loneliness and cheeseburgers are a dangerous mix’. Well, the same might be said of tape recorders and eight-tracks. Especially if you’re Ariel Marcus Rosenberg, AKA Ariel Pink. Ariel has spent the better part of the last fifteen years famously and obsessively compiling a seemingly endless catalogue of reconstituted pop, 60s surfer tunes, advertising jingles, stadium anthems and 80s cheese, integrating them all into a style that might be thought of as Prom Queen meets Horror Show.
But for every critic repulsed by the lo-fi imperfection and seeming amateurishness of Pink’s analogue recordings, another has recognised that the sheer mediocrity of the sound quality – and it is bad, at times almost unlistenably so – is as much of the point as is the mishmash of genre that makes up the songs themselves. Pink has chosen to scrape away the studio polish of disposable product, to expose a vehicle capable of bearing his wounded, abject voice.
“I cut my teeth early on sub-par equipment,” he tells me, with an almost audible shrug. “It wasn’t so much being attracted to the sound of shittiness per se … It was a means to an end. [It was about] making something sound good out of it, rather than blaming the lack of quality on the lack of gear.”
The outsider mystique that grew up around his wretched loner shtick, as well as the undeniable quality of the songs, yielded paydirt eventually. A union with Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks back in 2004 resulted in the release of selected material that had previously only existed on CD-Rs. Subsequent releases such as The Doldrums (2004) or Scared Famous (2007) have simply mined the back-catalogue however, the music carrying no sense of growth or progression. Rather, it expresses a bizarre time-warped sense of stasis, as well as a loneliness so hyper-aware of itself that its bruised misery is immediately erased by the self-reflexive piss-taking that’s present in its very articulation.
That was then though and this is now – for Ariel Pink has turned a corner. Last year’s sprawling double-disk opus Grandes Exitos marked the end of his DIY era. “Music is a means to an end y’know,” he says. “You should make your art and purge those demons that you so desperately need to exorcise. I’m over that stage of my life where I’m just a heart bleeding onto a tape deck. I’m very anxious to get some sort of feedback, some reflection on what I was doing. I’ve got a whole different set of circumstances now.”
Among other things, Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti is no longer simply a moniker for the artist’s bedroom project. It’s a full band now, feathers and all. Previous attempts at performing his music solo produced less than stellar results (“I think it came off pretty bad”, he admits), but Pink is quick to staunch any doubts regarding the group’s ability. “Who says that it’s impossible to do this stuff live? All we need is commitment, people to be on the same page.
“The live part is what I have to do in order to continue playing my music. Otherwise I’d need to get a job and continue to make a bunch of tapes in my bedroom. It’s [been] this total lesson in how to handle one’s affairs.” He laughs, adding, “I’m a lot more of a social butterfly; I like the attention, too.”
Other positive life steps have included being signed last year to UK indie label 4AD; any former recalcitrance towards participating in the monster that is the modern music industry eventually gave way to the desire to reach an audience. “It was no secret; we needed to get signed to a real label,” he says. “I’ve made every mistake in the book in the last five years, and I’ve continued to, I’m a slow learner … but I’m lucky, I feel like I’m chasing heights. The longer I do it, the more I feel I’m in control of my craft. It’s a new trajectory in my life that I’m really into at the moment; it’s very different.”
Before Today is the first album of this new period. At an even twelve tracks, it is easily Pink’s most coherent and accessible statement to date. Songs like ‘Fright Night (Nevermore)’, first single ‘Round And Round’ or the wonderfully Billie Jean referencing ‘Menopause Man’ benefit from digital production with a rich day-glo sound, while retaining the knowing wink and disruptive sexual overtones of his previous work.
Pink seems reconciled with the excesses of what he obviously sees as a previous incarnation – there is a clear sense of him having passed through the crucible, arriving on the other side by and large intact, and with a renewed thirst to create. “At the risk of being a cartoon of myself, I do like to lead the life that I want to lead, and kind of lead by example. I really feel like there’s no reason to be just a stupid entertainer for the sheeple… just the heroin for the masses – we don’t need anymore of that.”
So what lies ahead? “Same thing only better, hopefully. I don’t want to punish the crowd or chastise humanity or whatever … Whatever I’ve already laid the groundwork for – it’s all tacky already. My job is not anywhere near done.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 365, June 7th 2010
But for every critic repulsed by the lo-fi imperfection and seeming amateurishness of Pink’s analogue recordings, another has recognised that the sheer mediocrity of the sound quality – and it is bad, at times almost unlistenably so – is as much of the point as is the mishmash of genre that makes up the songs themselves. Pink has chosen to scrape away the studio polish of disposable product, to expose a vehicle capable of bearing his wounded, abject voice.
“I cut my teeth early on sub-par equipment,” he tells me, with an almost audible shrug. “It wasn’t so much being attracted to the sound of shittiness per se … It was a means to an end. [It was about] making something sound good out of it, rather than blaming the lack of quality on the lack of gear.”
The outsider mystique that grew up around his wretched loner shtick, as well as the undeniable quality of the songs, yielded paydirt eventually. A union with Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks back in 2004 resulted in the release of selected material that had previously only existed on CD-Rs. Subsequent releases such as The Doldrums (2004) or Scared Famous (2007) have simply mined the back-catalogue however, the music carrying no sense of growth or progression. Rather, it expresses a bizarre time-warped sense of stasis, as well as a loneliness so hyper-aware of itself that its bruised misery is immediately erased by the self-reflexive piss-taking that’s present in its very articulation.
That was then though and this is now – for Ariel Pink has turned a corner. Last year’s sprawling double-disk opus Grandes Exitos marked the end of his DIY era. “Music is a means to an end y’know,” he says. “You should make your art and purge those demons that you so desperately need to exorcise. I’m over that stage of my life where I’m just a heart bleeding onto a tape deck. I’m very anxious to get some sort of feedback, some reflection on what I was doing. I’ve got a whole different set of circumstances now.”
Among other things, Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti is no longer simply a moniker for the artist’s bedroom project. It’s a full band now, feathers and all. Previous attempts at performing his music solo produced less than stellar results (“I think it came off pretty bad”, he admits), but Pink is quick to staunch any doubts regarding the group’s ability. “Who says that it’s impossible to do this stuff live? All we need is commitment, people to be on the same page.
“The live part is what I have to do in order to continue playing my music. Otherwise I’d need to get a job and continue to make a bunch of tapes in my bedroom. It’s [been] this total lesson in how to handle one’s affairs.” He laughs, adding, “I’m a lot more of a social butterfly; I like the attention, too.”
Other positive life steps have included being signed last year to UK indie label 4AD; any former recalcitrance towards participating in the monster that is the modern music industry eventually gave way to the desire to reach an audience. “It was no secret; we needed to get signed to a real label,” he says. “I’ve made every mistake in the book in the last five years, and I’ve continued to, I’m a slow learner … but I’m lucky, I feel like I’m chasing heights. The longer I do it, the more I feel I’m in control of my craft. It’s a new trajectory in my life that I’m really into at the moment; it’s very different.”
Before Today is the first album of this new period. At an even twelve tracks, it is easily Pink’s most coherent and accessible statement to date. Songs like ‘Fright Night (Nevermore)’, first single ‘Round And Round’ or the wonderfully Billie Jean referencing ‘Menopause Man’ benefit from digital production with a rich day-glo sound, while retaining the knowing wink and disruptive sexual overtones of his previous work.
Pink seems reconciled with the excesses of what he obviously sees as a previous incarnation – there is a clear sense of him having passed through the crucible, arriving on the other side by and large intact, and with a renewed thirst to create. “At the risk of being a cartoon of myself, I do like to lead the life that I want to lead, and kind of lead by example. I really feel like there’s no reason to be just a stupid entertainer for the sheeple… just the heroin for the masses – we don’t need anymore of that.”
So what lies ahead? “Same thing only better, hopefully. I don’t want to punish the crowd or chastise humanity or whatever … Whatever I’ve already laid the groundwork for – it’s all tacky already. My job is not anywhere near done.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 365, June 7th 2010
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