When I walked into the Animal Collective show last Friday, I didn’t know quite what I was getting into. I hadn’t given the band much attention post Sung Tongs, with the exception of the recent Strawberry Jam, so the majority of their old material was going to seem relatively new to me.
Lions. Tigers. Face paint. Blowing bubbles. Animal Collective fanatics were out in full-force to listen to some organic stoner rock.
And there in lies the problem.
It took me half an hour of staring at the computer screen to write those three measly graphs. And then, it hit me:
The Animal Collective show wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad. It was just a void. By this point in the review, I should have something constructive to say about the performance.
But I don’t.
The entire experience felt incredibly extrasensory to me, although I was completely sober, I kept thinking what it would’ve been like on drugs. The epilepsy-inducing visuals were interesting, the bass ripped through my body and the natural vocals of Panda Bear and company ripped my auditory canal a new asshole.
An Animal Collective concert without drugs is like watching 3D television without the trademark red and blue glasses: yes, you’ll understand the basic plot, and sure, you’ll laugh at some of the jokes: but the sound Animal Collective ultimately provides is almost textural, you need something to push it into all five senses of your entire being.
Like smelling a plate of Pad Thai and not tasting the ginger. Like sex with a pretty girl while wearing seven condoms. The whole entire time, I felt like I was missing something.
Maybe I just didn’t get it.
After all, the venue was sold out. Hundreds of people came to see a band they love because they “got it.”
But I didn’t.
The Animal Collective experience was emotionally draining, and by the time it ended, I felt like I was swimming in the aftermath of some sort of traumatic experience.
Like I had just witnessed my family’s mental breakdown on Christmas eve. Like a terrible car crash spraying glass shards all over the concrete. Like watching someone you love decay in a hospital bed.
Maybe the beauty in the show was that it made me reflect on things haven’t thought about in a really long time. As art, what Animal Collective did was brilliant, even if their musical performance as a whole was inaccessible for the most part.
I could talk about the dynamics of “Fireworks,” the tribal rendition of “Leaf House” that left me pondering what the hell made the band shift the song like that, or the energy the band provided throughout the entire ordeal, only stopping in between songs occasionally.
But those things are ultimately meaningless. These are the only factual things I can tell you about what I was doing from Midnight until two in the morning on Saturday:
I went to an Animal Collective concert.
It was an experience. One that made me reflect on things I haven’t pondered in a really long time. And I never want to see them live ever again.
for more (non) clarity:
read our Animal Collective interview here
A simple ‘the show sucked’ would have sufficed.
October 1, 2007 at 12:22 pmaw you should have come back by the sound guy where all the hippies were dancing! tribal remix + hippies = fun!
October 1, 2007 at 3:22 pmexperimental music ~ lack of self-editing that holds a normal live audience.
October 1, 2007 at 6:31 pmholy H-E-double hockey stix…they killed it.
October 2, 2007 at 12:17 am
So . . . whatcha pondering?
October 1, 2007 at 11:23 am