Imagine if you will, just for a moment, a strawman music fan who likes “real” music, played on “real” instruments by “real” people. I come across this kind of person less and less these days, but I used to encounter them all the time. My counter to their insistence on “real” music was always that it sounded boring, and that I preferred the idea of “unreal” music, which surely must be more exciting.
Panda Bear makes “unreal” music, both with Animal Collective and on his own. Music that doesn’t sound real, music that floats, that can’t be touched, that doesn’t seem to stem from anything physical. It’s a remarkable trick; one that has actually, despite my pining for “unreal” music, given me many problems over the years.
Tomboy is not so much drenched in reverb as dissolved in it. Listening to it is like trying to watch a 3D film without the polarising glasses required to bring the two images into alignment and thus (pseudo) reality; so many repetitions of the same sonic image are presented that your brain can’t quite follow them. Because of this, no matter the identifiable human elements (voices, emotions), it remains unreal, strange, other.
This shouldn’t be a surprise; Person Pitch is similarly untouchable through the echo. Some people have complained at the replacement of the bizarre sample-bed of Panda’s last solo outing with a more prosaic soil of guitars and drums, but really both albums are so defined by the reverb, by the haziness, by the repetition (be it the instant persistence of sound reverberating, or the prolonged repetition of a beat, or a vocal), that it’s often difficult to identify the sound sources anyway. The strummed acoustic guitars and 4/4 beats that make up swathes of Tomboy’s sonic architecture might as well be layered, looped collages of samples, because they feel the same.
Even the sleeve art, which appears to have been originally drawn on tracing paper, and might have been recreated similarly, like the sleeve of Lambchop’s What Another Spills (i.e. In tracing paper), is instead printed onto card, giving the illusion of another texture and making the actual texture seem unreal, untouchable, defying expectations. Likewise the words; once again I have no idea what Panda is singing, even when it’s obvious; is he being duplicitous on the opening track? Is he singing “know you can count on me” or “no you can’t count on me”? I know it’s the former, but I hear the latter as much, if not more; yet more obfuscation, more unreality.
As such, Tomboy really isn’t a million miles away from Person Pitch, though I’ve seen some suggest it might be. I don’t think of its precursor as being the unadulterated classic that so many claim; I love the moments of beatific, Gregorian-chant-Beach-Boys mantra, like the second half of Take Pills or the first half of Bros, which attain a state of euphoric tedium. But then so much of Person Pitch also becomes simply tedious, without the euphoria. Tomboy is equally touched with moments of blissful repetition (the title track’s close), and moments of boring repetition too (Drone). This is fine. So is life.
There are more songs here than on Person Pitch, and shorter on average, with only two stretching beyond five minutes and most done in around four. This means there’s no 10-minute centerpiece, but also that nothing outstays its welcome too long. This doesn’t necessarily make Tomboy easier to digest or poppier; thus far I’d say that nothing quite achieves the highest peaks mentioned as existing in Take Pills, but it might just be that Slow Motion and Last Night At The Jetty will take some time to settle in. Already, though, I prefer the tedium of Afterburner’s delicious exit groove to Good Girl/Carrots.
Noah Lennox and I are similar ages, and we’re both married. I don’t have a child but I imagine our wants are similar; two walls and adobe slabs, for our girls. Very real things, in which to keep safe our emotional lives. But sometimes emotions are best expressed through unreality. Even at his most ostensibly organic, acoustic, and “real” on AC’s Sung Tongs, Panda Bear managed to turn the same trick, to sound unreal. Sometimes the buzzing, reverberating unreality of it all gives me a headache; but mostly nowadays it makes me smile.