It's actually hard to think of music whose bad reputation is more disproportionately out of balance with its good intentions than Animal Collective's without dipping into Christian radio or trip-hop. Like most seekers, they get made fun of a lot. Onstage, they looked more like astronauts than musicians on record, they sounded less like musicians than cavemen, or lost wolves howling for an impossible moon: Modern guys seeking a spiritual basement deep below the civilized self. ![]() Their songs morphed and rambled and writhed with the liveness of kimchi or kombucha, less finished product than something that fermented and evolved as you listened. Early on they wore masks-a gesture that connected them not only to the lucid dreams of playtime but to traditions of shamanism and present-day Mardi Gras, where people hide their faces not to disguise their natures but reveal them. Despite its futuristic sheen, Animal Collective's music has always evoked a primitive kind of purity.
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