Abstract Transcription Deluxe Box: On the merits of the new Animal Collective cd.

Reporting back from floating attempt #49, covered in magnetic remains of ether trail caught in early 90s pipeline sky detail collected in sample jar and remaining the same weight and consistency through force of will and observation reaction,
Having floated willingly as a volunteer colonist, tended land on arid moons, wandered Venusian forests and clutched mystical orchids, and soundtracked for ambient topographic reconstructions to be roamed by sleepers lucky enough to be on the same frequency (46~10~000Mhz) and holographically brought into focus by lofty intellectuals at a later date and at a safe distance,
Pioneers walk the lonely path to validation,
No-one will talk or offer to proffer,
Permission is always required and thus the intellectual pioneers must constantly grant access via the medium of breaking into a million pieces right there in front of people on the gnarly pavement,
Strapped-in,
Cranked-up,
clunky washing machine techno, tumbles, leather gasket from unknown source happily bathed in mint essence of plant lubricant,
Magic carousels that conjure sound mathematically, utilising theory of cylinder with sphere inside, grinding cogs of Victorian fairground in astral museum,
Not to watch the horses and spinning, reeling psychedelic fairground riders on a zero-G head-trip, but to hear the beautiful symmetry of the beautifully recreated engine detail, spinning through vectors across X and Y axis variables and emitting digitized ooze-scapes of euphoric, beatific Mind nourishment,
Fuck the Brian Wilson trip, its reductive and silly and shows lack of journalistic balls,
They intone their raw emotions in unison via baritone cream and tenor tech-trance-chant, I hear 70s FM friendly soft-rock easy listening gone Gold in their voices and am far more interested in the dashboard sheen found HERE than in sandpits, animals, fire-engines and silly moodswings and ego-trips resulting in 30yr old mush getting called 'brilliant'. Brian Wilson is an over-baked has-been.
The threads that hold the whole thing together are a synthetic weave constructed of Eno Aphex Ambient Works Equatorial Star Background fuzz...creeping in at the bookends of most of the tracks and rearing up and fluttering wings at random points,
This is Orbital on a sun-tinted M25 to outer space banging out fat spice gold n skunk reefers, brown-powdered up to the eyeballs and fucking playing the Velvet's Sister Ray on a feedback loop machine made by Terry Riley and given a personality complex (affecting its overall performance) by an eternally young Digital Terence Mckenna.
On Merriweather Post Pavilion, we find the AC as lighthouse within conceptual ocean, as metaphor within conceptual sentence and as tor or megalith within alien gameboard on galaxy outer spiral.
Thoroughly recommended!
MSG.

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