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(white label, 2006)
Legal whatsis woulda kept these songs off any “official” Animal Collective record, so AC pulls a fast one and sneaks ‘em out on a white-label 45. The cover of “Polly” is done in a spooky, shuddering, acoustic style, though the ridiculous vocals make it feel like a goof. Not worth puzzling over that too much, cuz the real prize is on the other side: Great clattering percussion on the crazed, all-over-the-place “Purple Bottle,” and the bonus Stevie Wonder rip (“I just called to say…”) in the middle is a nice touch before we get into the whoop-n-holler end-section. Song’s a bizarro rush, tapping into the same teetering weirdness that Barrett nailed on “Vegetable Man” and “Scream Thy Last Scream.” But happier, almost to the point of being manic.
Limited to 500, supposedly, and long gone. Sorry bub.
(FatCat, 2004)
I was working for Bubblecore Records – FatCat’s American distributor at the time – the summer this came out, so I have many sweaty memories of days spent filling order after order for “Who Could Win a Rabbit.” The song itself isn’t among the band’s strongest moments (but my ARMS sure were strong after lifting all them boxes of vinyl! WHEE!). It’s a sunny, ecstatic gallop that signaled a move toward a slightly more pop-focused Animal Collective, and it features one of the group’s standard psychotic-preschool-singalong melodies, but it’s too short to really take hold in the mind and ear. There is an entertaining video for the single, and the visual element actually adds quite a bit to the track. “Baby Day,” meanwhile, is a surprisingly convincing mid-/late-’70s Brian Wilson impression. Layered Beach Boy-style vocals and the lyric “She’s gonna have a baby” repeated over and over atop a sparse electronic rhythm and minimal synth, it’s just the sort of charming toss-off that crazytown Brian would have stuck onto the likes of The Beach Boys Love You.
(Wurlitzer Jukebox, 1997)
There could not POSSIBLY be a worse night for reviewing Brit psychsters AMP. I am just back from the big Van Halen reunion show at Madison Square Garden, to which I wore my tight pants and sleazy high-schooler moustache (ladies: you know where to reach me), and after a long night well-spent in the presence of cartoon-rock greatness I am understandably a bit nonplussed by this disc’s patience-stretching, spacey atmospherics. But I'll try.
The watery, ultra-distorted “Beyond” sounds like the guitar-driven beauty of early Flying Saucer Attack with chilly, tribal percussion underneath… makes sense, cuz Richard Amp is an FSA collaborator from days of old. There are some female vocals on here, but I think the whole thing might have worked just as well as an instrumental; the singing is too ethereal to be valuable/intelligible from a lyrics standpoint, yet too high up in the mix to weave itself into the trippy-time musical fabric (as Dave Pearce's whispery vox did so effectively in FSA). But OK, fine; it’s not so bad. “Lutin” is an inconsequential, drifting rumble with electronic effects echoing in the background, a totally-stoned throwaway B-side. Both these songs would sit more comfortably within the framework of a full-length; a 7” is not the proper home for either track. Just skip the single, buy an LP instead. Hey, did I mention that David Lee Roth took to the stage waving his giant red flag? And that they did “Mean Streets”? Wow! Even “Eruption” was almost tolerable!
(Tiger Style, 2001)
Texan pencil-necks come back for more, this time on Tiger Style, Insound’s ill-fated in-house label. The buzzing keys and echo-laden vibraphone on the peppy “New Equation” add up to a song as satisfyingly lysergic as anything else in the catalog, though the quirky, spitfire delivery of the male/female vocals (or is it a double-tracked falsetto??) is a bit off-putting. “All I Want for Christmas,” on the B, is a waste of vinyl, an ultra-shorty that starts off like any other quiet, cookie-cutter American Analog track (why were these unadventurous songs always on the B-sides of singles?), and then blooms into a Rentals-style chorus before ending suddenly. Both toonz remain exclusive to this 7”, but still… buy cheap or don’t buy at all.
(Emperor Jones, 1999)
Another album, another single, thus completing the band’s red-, white-, and blue-vinyl 7” trilogy for Emperor Jones. No huge departure from the past is evident, though the band does continue to slowly evolve. The vocals are more prominent than ever, and the A-side comes off like a lost, upbeat, Doug Yule-sung track from the third Velvet Underground LP. Really! To this listener, the ever-increased focus on mainman Andrew Kenny’s voice and lyrics is actually the main shift that occurred within the AmAnSet’s music over the years. The earliest material was all about instrumental atmosphere, but as time went on, things felt more and more singer/songwriter-y with each release. We’re well on our way by the time of “The Only Living Boy Around.”
You know, it’s odd that there were never any American Analog Set copycats of note. The group had a steady following for years (I wasn’t able to get anywhere near their farewell NYC show), and it doesn’t seem like it would be that hard to approximate the band’s sound. It might be hard to do it well, but it certainly wouldn’t be too huge a task to at least crank out a watered-down facsimile. So where were and are all the AmAnSet wannabes? There must be someone out there. And guess what? I’m your drummer! Whether you like it or not!
(Emperor Jones, 1997)
If you’re gonna get ONE American Analog Set record, this oughta and gotta be it. The AmAnSet released this, its second single, to accompany its second album, and the groovy bliss-pop of “Magnificent Seventies” is, hands-down, the band at its very tip-toppiest. There’s certainly a higher confidence level here than on the first 7”; both the drumming and the singing are much more assertive as the group flexes its muscles and stretches out within the parameters of its by-now established sound. A brisk pace and well-timed cymbal splashes make for more excitement than anything that has come before, but there’s still that dreamy, late-night feel in the gentle picking and droning keyboards. The comparatively glacial B-side covers the same ground as the first album, though its titular pun – “Waking Up is Hard to Do” – is worth a snigger or two.
A longer version of “Magnificent Seventies” shows up on From Our Living Room to Yours, and both of this single’s tracks are compiled on the Through the ’90s collection.
(Emperor Jones, 1996)
Hmm, here's an example of a band that really BLEW IT. And I'll tell you why. Back in, oh, 2001, a fine group of chums, known far and wide for scorching wit and cleverness, slapped some iron-on letters onto an undershirt to make a fashionable top that said the following:
I LOVE
AMERICAN
ANALOG SET
Get it? GET IT??? WHOOOOO!
Anyway, this classic shirt was presented to the AmAnSet live in concert at Boston's TT The Bear's, but, incredibly, was never worn. In fact, later encounters with the band revealed that the garment became a sweat rag. Insulting! Perhaps not coincidentally, American Analog Set's fortunes soon soured, and after a succession of label changes, the band was effectively defunct by 2006. And now you know... "THE REST OF THE STORY." I'm Paul Harvey. Good day.
Just kidding; I'm not really Paul Harvey... or AM I? I'm not!
So let's forget that absolutely-relevant anecdote for a moment and step back a few years: this here single kicked off AmAnSet's recording career, preceding the debut LP by a few months. It presents a unique, loping sort of psychedelia, with a lazier take on the Krautrock motorik beat underpinning the sustained organ/keyboard washes, unassuming guitar, and lullaby-style vocals. Both songs are polite and gently propulsive, with somnolent melodies so boneheadedly simple that it all gets irrevocably stuck in the head upon first listen. The band would tweak the formula in later years to incorporate more pop/rock structure and less droniness, but these early singles are still the discographical jewels.
(white label, 2006)
