“It’s the kind of smoke that could make us invisible.”

Here Comes the Indian seems to be the first time since Spirit They’re Gone that Animal Collective decided to focus and make a cohesive album; it also it the first time that an album was released under the name Animal Collective (the first several being credited to various combinations of members). It’s a mixed bag and only some of the experiments land, but it’s a step in the right direction.

The seven tracks presented here are all loosely formed aural soundscapes that attempt to invoke imagery and feelings rather than hook you with vocal melodies, riffs, or lyrics. As such, like much of the early AC output, they’re not really “songs” (‘Slippi’ may be the single exception); instead, I would call them collages. The lyrics remain nonsensical but at this point that’s to be expected from these guys as they seem to ad lib phrases most of the time, choosing words based on their phonetic sound rather than their meaning.

The images that the panoramas give rise to—clanking machinery, ritualistic chanting, war dances, tribal communing—are hit-or-miss. But there is more diversity and an intentional sense of craft here than on any of the previous releases. For instance, in contrast to the monotone songs of Danse Manatee, a song like ‘Hey Light’ begins with Panda smashing his drum set and the band members trading literal shouts with one another, then a military drumbeat and heavy guitar start before the “singing” comes in. After a few minutes, the song settles down into a long outro where the singing is sung barely above a whisper and is only accompanied by claps and some tinkling chimes.

My favorite track is the 8+ minute ‘Infant Dressing Table’. At times it feels as if you’re listening to a horror film without dialogue, almost like the output of early Sonic Youth. Without being immediately pleasurable, it is the kind of song that can percolate inside your brain somewhere and give you more to chew on during repeated listens (separated by a good deal of time). I have had the disconnected vocals of that begin about two minutes into the song stuck in my head on several occasions, even though by most measures the track is not really catchy at all. And the inarticulate vocals—I think there are about three or four different vocal tracks, all with different effects—somehow seem perfectly matched to the randomized golfballs-in-a-washing-machine percussion that acts as the song’s heartbreat. It veers between eerie, nonmusical tension and otherworldly sublimity without breaking a sweat. It’s the kind of thing that I don’t think is really possible to come up with in your head and then go out and create. It has to come about via experimentation and iteration. One of the loveliest ugly songs.

Here Comes the Indian is like a bridge between the neo-tribal early days and the classic pop-informed days that the band would be heading toward shortly. Despite the intense and sometimes bizarre results of the experimentation, there are softer, meditative moments interjected as well, like the twelve minute ‘Two Sails On A Sound’. At this point in their career, this was the most fully realized project the band had put together and it remains a fan favorite. Parts of it are trying, as the band halfheartedly hangs onto their noise-rock roots even while they feel compelled to explore new territory, but it has a sense of purpose that had been lacking before.

Favorite Tracks: Infant Dressing Table; Two Sails On A Sound.