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Here Comes The Indian

by

Animal Collective

 
Here Comes The Indian
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Avg: 4.0 (67 ratings)

Folk, noise, electronic frippery: Animal Collective's messy sonics sound like nobody else.

  • We Say...

    Review by Andy Battaglia

    A strange band whose music defies description while inspiring a store of associations, Animal Collective meander through folk, noise and electronic frippery with an eye cocked forever toward the mystical. It's an approach best observed live in lofts and clubs throughout downtown Manhattan and the leading edge of Brooklyn, but Here Comes the Indian offers a suitably cracked and fogged-up window into Animal Collective's fabulist world. Capturing the group in plugged-in mode, songs like "Native Belle" take sprawling journeys through what sound like shamanic rituals, replete with murky chanting, dream-world electronics, and occasional fits of rock situated to break the spell. "Hey Light" revolves around patches of screaming and barking, lacing hot Krautrock guitars through a tightly wound song that unwinds with a sing-along handclap outro. "Panic" sounds almost ancient with its processed dessert moans, while "Slippi" suggests a would-be pop song from a planet different than our own. Reactions to the messy sonics are sure to differ, but it's hard to deny that Animal Collective sound like pretty much nobody else.

  • They Say...

    Review by Mark Pytlik, All Music Guide

    Informed in equal parts by acid-fried psychosis, crop-circle field recordings, and an elephants-on-the-loose circus thrash aesthetic, Animal Collective's fourth full-length album rests roughly at the meeting point between psychedelic, noise, and folk music. Here Comes the Indian begins gently enough with "Native Belle," a moody set piece that belies the album's clatter with 12 minutes of constrained rhythmic builds, drones, and squeaks. Things quickly explode with the searing "Hey Light," a lightning bolt of electrocuted brass and human wails that sends the album careening into psychoactive delirium. Since everything that follows -- from the shrieking brattle of "Two Sails on a Sound" to the enchanted tribal vocal exercises of "Slippi" to the slow-building celebratory scuttle of "Too Soon" -- feels similarly crazed, drug-induced, and apparitional, Here Comes the Indian makes for particularly lucid listening. Brash, crass, and texturally magnificent, this is well worth seeking out.

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