Animal Collective – Centipede Hz
“If you thought we went soft after Merriweather Post Pavilion, what do you think of us now?!” Animal Collective didn’t say. But they didn’t have to since Centipede Hz gets that message across clear enough on its own. Unlike that avant-pop masterpiece, Centipede Hz contains no obvious singles, no routes in for casual fans likely roped in by their last album. Yet, even with Avey Tare explaining in interviews how Centipede would have more of a rocking out, live-band feel—something he hadn’t said since the group’s last truly experimental release, Here Comes The Indian—the album isn’t as different or difficult as he makes it out to be. It certainly has a jammy feel to it—the songs rely on a lot of repeated lyrical and music passages, and at 56 minutes, it’s their longest album since their debut—but sonically, it’s closer to Merriweather and Strawberry Jam than any garage band this side of planet Earth. In fact, because of all this, Centipede Hz achieves something that no other Animal Collective album has—it’s boring. It may seem unthinkable, but because the band, which again includes Deakin, seems ambivalent about what direction they want to take with this record—avant-garde or pop, free-flowing or structured, analog or electronic—they end up standing still. The music is far from conventional, but Centipede is for all the world exactly what you’d expect from an Animal Collective album, sounding like a diluted blend of everything they’ve done since Feels.
To be fair, things start off well enough. “Moonjock” benefits from some of the ecstatic glee and jagged melodies that characterize the group’s best work, all leading to a fiery, cathartic chant (Avey is always at his most compelling as a vocalist when he sounds like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown). The same goes for “Today’s Supernatural,” whose satisfying, disjointed pop sensibility probably makes it the best thing on the record. But as the album winds through its songs, you begin to notice that each track follows roughly the same formula; it’s just that some are more successful at it than others. Sure, it sounds thrilling on paper: unidentifiable, rhythmic samples; arty guitar lines; Panda Bear’s pitter-patter percussion; some touches of Middle Eastern and Brazilian music. Yet each song mines the same moods and textures, and there’s often not enough hooks, melody or interesting Ben Allen production quirks to help distinguish many of the songs from each other, even upon repeated spins.
Unsurprisingly, when Animal Collective take a few chances, Centipede Hz comes to life. Deakin takes his first ever vocal turn on “Wide-Eyed,” and his trippy intonations are a welcome respite from Avey’s pained wails, ditto for the bubbling synth loop, which is one of the most memorable bits of music on the record. Elsewhere, the shuffling “Father Time” never allows the orgy of instruments to overwhelm the songwriting, while “Monkey Riches” has a trembling urgency lacking from the rest of the record. Whether or not your expectations were inflated after Merriweather Post Pavilion, Centipede Hz ends up a startling disappointment. Nothing here is aggressively awful—it just apparently finds one of the most creatively adventurous bands out there phoning it in.