Animal Collective Play Webster Hall
By David Callicott
Animals, above, collectively.
We’ve been fans of New York-based Animal Collective for some time now, although we’ll admit that when listening to them, we sometimes have to check and see if the CD is skipping. It’s not. The skipping sound is just the clicking rhythm that makes their experimental noise so hypnotic. On their new album, Strawberry Jam, we hear more of this trance-inducing, helicopter-prop looping, but with more Avey Tare vocals than usual. With Strawberry Jam, Animal Collective has again succeeded at distilling a sublime juxtapostion of extremes: primal and futuristic, tribal and techno, dark and joyous, dissonant and melodic. And it tastes good on burnt toast.
Click the jump, where the review goes sour, and we reveal exclusive photos from the show at Webster.
With the new album getting so much attention, Animal Collective’s homecoming shows this week were getting an equal measure of hype. After being part of the 10,000-person crush at the South Street Seaport show this spring, we were psyched to see them in the more intimate environment of Webster Hall (if Webster Hall could ever be considered intimate). But about halfway through Sunday night’s show, we couldn’t help but think, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The 75-minute set dragged on like a hike through the desert, a seemingly endless walk through a repetitious and monotonous landscape. There were glimpses of oases, short moments where grooves seemed to appear in the distance. But as we got closer to the groove, it would disappear—a mirage. That said, young hipster throngs cheered the deafening cacophony, wanting more, more of the same. The ironic rebels under the mirror ball, who so flagrantly blew smoke in the face of indoor cigarette bans, nodded their heads with severe enthusiasm. Some of the more devoted almost danced(!) in between texting each other. It was so New York, so very beyond.
