Animal Collective - Sung Tongs (2004)
A beautiful example of sweet-spotting, Animal Collective's Sung Tongs nails the middle ground of avant garde experimentalism and broader, pop-melodic immediacy. One could even argue that this is more the experimentalist flashing his under-overcoat wares at a pop/standard-issue audience; these tunes are firmly entrenched in the realm of the weird, merely exposing the sort of memorability required by the mainstream. The result is a gem of an otherworldly disc that deserves as few words as possible to describe its ineffable qualities.
Certain terms were flung about in the 2004 Sung Tongs reviews (the album was a critically-lauded breakthrough for the folk-freak group): timeless, whimsical, romantic, folk, magical, disorder, Beach Boys, campfire, happiness, freak out, child-like, wonder, innocence, spiritual, transcendent, primal. Or, as put more succinctly in the Pitchfork review, "the surreal, manic experience of 'immature' euphoria." To traipse in Sung Tongs is a venture into some beaming kids' imagination-scape, and other than to give the most rudimentary descriptions of its sound - jangling acoustic guitars, cyclically mystic song patterns, woodland chanting that makes this scream for inclusion as the soundtrack to any play involving Puck, and sure, "campfire songs" - it frankly seems silly to textually describe an album that is so entirely about wrapping the listener in the album qua artistic aural experience.
It's imperfect. The album is frontloaded with the most pop of its songs, leaving a jammed out experimental end that by any relative measure lacks that accessible focus. Not to say that the back half lacks songs-as-gems - "College" is a funny, faux Beach Boy classic, and "Visiting Friends" is fantastic oddball recording pastiche. But the "singles" on this disc are obviously, obviously, obviously upfront - the pyramidal opener "Leaf House," the rambling-conversation-with-a-precocious-three-year-old (how's that for an adjective?) "Who Could Win a Rabbit," and the flat out raindrops on a sunny glen-divine "The Softest Voice" all stand as the strong of the strong, rendering the back end an inevitable letdown. Let it be known, natch, that whatever descent comes is distinctly after "Winters Love," a song that cleverly echoes itself en route to delivering a swaying, drum circle lovefest, and is capital R relative. Tipping back and letting this backdrop from start to finish ensconce is the definite way to go.
It's arguable, but I'll go ahead and firmly assert that since 1732, the truly magical moments have been few and far between. Sung Tongs provides one of them. It's hardly music for the masses, and it's strictly for a playful, up-for-anything mood, to be sure. But as ridiculous quasi-escapist vacations go, this is top notch. It should be obvious that this is best approached with an open-mind and a very relaxing drink / drug in hand. Given proper context, though, chalk this one up as an essential folk-mystic exceptional experience; not to be missed, not to be taken remotely literally, just a quick tap in to the fundamental transcendence that's always there. Excellent work; exactly what experimental music should provide.
Status: Recommended
Nyet's Fave: "The Softest Voice"
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