Yeah, I’ll admit it: I succumb to hyperbole way too damn much. After reverring Merriweather Post Pavillion as basically the Second Coming, I’ve imposed self-censoring techniques to ensure I don’t casually call something the “worst ever”, “best ever”, etc. This is because there are instances where such tags are deserved. Merriweather is the best fucking ever. And “I Hate My Life” by Canadian nü grunge quartet (and Nickelback protégés) Theory of A Deadman might be the worst lyrics ever written.

I use the word “ever” knowing full-well it’s semantic implications; “ever” meaning from the beginning of Gregorian Chants to the rise of Classical to the fall of disco. I ask the question, “are these the worst lyrics ever written?”, not rhetorically, not flippantly, and not ironically (okay, maybe a little bit ironically). Either way, here they are for your literary pleasure:

So sick of the hobos
Always beggin’ for change
I don’t like how I gotta work
And they just sit around and get paid

I hate all of the people
Who can’t drive their cars
Bitch, you better get out of the way
Before I start falling apart

I hate how my wife
Is always up my ass
She always wants to buy brand new things
But I don’t have the cash

(aw, please kill me now)

(Refrain)
Well I hate my job, all my rich friends
I hate everyone to the bitter end
Nothing turns out right, there’s no end in sight
I hate my life

How come I never get laid?
Nice guys always lose
How could she have another headache?
There’s always some kind of excuse

I still hate my job
My boss is a dick
I don’t get paid nearly enough
To put up with all of his shit

-(Refrain)-
I hate my job, all my rich friends
I hate everyone to the bitter end
Nothing turns out right, there’s no end in sight
I hate my life

-Musical Interlude-

I hate that I can’t tell
When a girl’s underage
And how when I tell her she’s a nice piece of ass
Then her daddy punches me in the face

So if you’re pissed like me
Bitches, here’s what you’ve gotta do
Put your middle fingers up in the air
Go on and say ‘Fuck you’

-(Refrain)-
I hate my job, all my rich friends
I hate everyone to the bitter end
Nothing turns out right, there’s no end in sight
I hate my life

So much at stake
Can’t catch a break
I hate my life

No there’s nothing new
And it sucks to be you
I fucking hate my life

Fuck

And if interested in the musical accompaniment:

Today we have unveiled our review of the highly anticipated, much internet-sheriffed about new Animal Collective album Merriweather Post Pavilion. And like many of our contemporaries, we find it to be quite an enjoyable listen. But exactly one week into 2009 and it’s already being proclaimed the best record of the year, with some giving it higher praise than any release in all of 2008. And so I am left to wonder; am I the only one who isn’t even sure it’s the best record I’ve gotten in the last week, let alone all of this year and last?

To be certain, it is a beautiful record; one that I assigned to one of our more critical writers in the hopes that he would find something that didn’t sit well with him, only to be greeted with his overstated joy. And upon reading Flavorwire’s interview with Pitchfork editor Mark Richardson, I have a better understanding of why they chose to rate it so high. Yet earlier this week, when we simply stated that all the publications are elbowing their way to be the first to bow down to it, it elicited a comment of “don’t pretend like you’re not ready to bow down to this record as well. It’s fucking incredible and you know it.” Fair enough, but in an odd twist of irony, the commenter went on to add, “and please don’t turn into the next holier than thou Pitchfork snob website.”

That added jab became the incentive for this editorial, because it led me to hypothetically ask Chris (the name under which the comment was left), “if we — as music ‘journalists’ — are not to be critical of the music laid out before us, then who is?” I know the reason I started reading Pitchfork was not because they were critical and at times, demeaning, but because they had a definitive voice. One that you trusted, and would hope to give you insight that other, less confrontational sources like The Chicago Tribune, Paste Magazine, Spin were afraid to bring up. So does this speak more to Pitchfork watering down their content to fill a wider audience range, or — and the stance I take — that we as listeners and the music industry as a whole are looking so desperately for some reason, any reason, to believe that this year can be filled with a summery disposition like the one displayed on Merriweather Post Pavailion. That no matter what is to come in ‘09, it has to be better than last year?

It’s as though Animal Collective is the musical equivalent of Barack Obama. They don’t have to do anything extraordinary in order to save us from our daily doldrums. They just need to be. Sure, in the end Merriweather meets — or excedes — our expectations, but it doesn’t matter what it sounds like. It didn’t matter for the past three months when everyone was trying to get their hands on it, and the band and their label were successful (for the most part) at keeping it away from the masses, building the expectations even more. Maybe that’s what the anticipation was built upon. Maybe it’s not the band that we cared about or that we all were interested to hear what the album sounded like, but we wanted to be the first to say we’ve heard the record. To exclaim its amazingness before anyone else. I mean, The Tripwire is already really late in posting our review a mere three days after it’s vinyl release (note: not CD or digital yet).

Like Richardson explained in the Flavorwire interview, much of the excitement and anticipation comes from not knowing what Animal Collective will do next. The fact you cannot predict what sound they will embody from record to record is one of their biggest assets. As he goes on to say that while a lot of people will want to compare them to Radiohead because of the experimentation and departure from “conventional” pop-music, that “one thing with Radiohead, is that every album had at least a few tunes that could fairly be described as ‘rock songs.’ You could tell what all the instruments were, there are guitars, etc., but that’s not really true with [Merriweather Post Pavilion].”

The Radiohead comparisons are both justified and lofty praise for a band that used to wear masks. But in the end it doesn’t matter what Pitchfork, myself, yourself, or anyone thinks, because music is only as deep as the moment we are listening to it. Once it’s off and the criticism begins, it loses any value. So to answer Chris, I can only say that I will continue be that “holier than thou” opinionated asshole, because someone has to try and weed through the herd mentality. Even if the herd is right.

And in case Chris or anyone else is wondering, I think that Merriweather Post Pavilion is a wonderfully produced record. Possibly one of the best produced records of the last decade. And it’s the lush and sonic beauty of the production which makes it a better-than-good record. Still, the songwriting — in my humble opinion — is only average, with many of the songs sounding very similar, even repetitive and blending into one another at times. Maybe this is intentional, maybe it’s not, but as a whole it is not nearly as poppy as Strawberry Jam or innovative as Sung Tongs (still my favorite Animal Collective album to date). I will listen to it often and thoroughly many more times, but if I were to make any comparisons, it would be to another band’s monumental opus.

Merriweather Post Pavilion will inevitably be Animal Collective’s Pet Sounds. You will either think it’s the best thing they’ve ever done, or a record that will remain critically acclaimed and on your shelf while you reach for Strawberry Jam. Either way, it will forever be remembered. As for a number? I’ll give it a 7.5.

Merriweather Post Pavillion is such a colossal success that I find myself simultaneously overwhelmed and at a loss for words. I can’t separate the visceral from the critical: This album is awesome, incredible, awe-inspiring, phenomenal, breathtaking. I’m trying to articulate the integral beauty of “My Girls”, yet all that comes to mind are synonyms for unprecedented and astonishing. The process of “reviewing” each song feels wrong, diametrically opposed to the positive spirit that the album espouses. When a release is this good, why bother deconstructing each harmony or intention? How can I possibly describe Animal Collective’s perfected aesthetic?

Derek (Editor of The Tripwire) insists on being critical and balanced, but I somehow can’t — I listen to this album incessantly as I lay at home nursing my two-week old bronchitis, yet still feel an irrepressible surge of jubilation. Merriweather is a contagious celebration of daily life and the mundane — it is impossible not to feel apart of the optimism.

Beginning with “In the Flowers”, Dave Portner’s (aka Avey Tare) airy wondering and light guitar-plucking overlay hand-claps and a relentless air of anticipation until it hits at 2:30: “If I could just leave my body for a while.” We have now been launched into a musical stratosphere of exhilaration and vigor and confusion. We will not leave this area for roughly the next 55 minutes. In comes the shiny-pop “My Girls”, where Person Pitch and the token AC sound meet, which will tempt the remix urges of DJs and producers alike. Deep bass commences “Also Frightened”, where the vocals of Avey Tare and Noax Lennox (aka Panda Bear) weave into another until they finally ask: “Are you also frightened?” So in the opening three tracks, we hear psychedelia, 80s-style pop, Afro-beats, dub and folk. A musical kaleidoscope, indeed.

The idea of “accessibility” lies at the crux of the AC debate and Merriweather will be the album that transcends this criteria. The raspy yelps of Avey Tare are nearly forgotten and idle ambient tracks that characterized older AC are eschewed. Though far from “conventional”, this album sees the band appropriating their signature sound while including new ideas and nuances. Look no further than “No More Runnin’”, the bedroom soul ballad (yes, an AC ballad) promoting the stunning vocalization of its lead singers. Or the sing-a-long summer anthem “Brothersport”, fusing Brian Wilson’s tropics with AC neurosis.

The lyricism on the album conveys an older band, yet one no less excitable. Themes of partnership and family preside over these tracks accompanied by an acute sense of self-awareness: “There isn’t much that I feel I need/ A solid soul and the blood I bleed.” They’re not trying for the abstract or the oblique, they’re singing of what they know. On “Summertime Clothes”, the line “I want to walk around with you” sounds so sincere and familiar that it verges on the profound. On “No More Runnin’”, the promise is full-fledged relational commitment, and the harmonies of the chorus are perhaps the album’s most humbling and awing moment. “I really want to show my girl that I need her,” sings Lennox, the lyric serving as a microcosm for the entire album.

Animal Collective never had anything to prove. A group of avant-garde musicians from Baltimore playing “freak-folk” or “psych-folk” (or whatever you want to call it) never seem destined for international greatness. The music was too esoteric, too abrasive, and too inaccessible for the mainstream, let alone an expansive fan base. Sure, critical acclaim within a particular niche was achieved through a variety of different sounds and albums. Merriweather transgresses all of these sounds and arrives at a sort of middle ground. A little less anxious, a little more plain-spoken, this release will reach a wider audience than any other. Ultimately, for all Animal Collective fans, Merriweather Post Pavilion is a gracious and generous offering, a culmination of a fantastic career that will deservingly send this band into greater acclaim.

Domino Records