Recap Animal Collective at The Riverside Theater

On this year’s Merriweather Post Pavilion, Animal Collective nearly drags its stoned ass into the heart of 21st century pop music. Or maybe, more impressively, the decade’s premier love ’em or hate ’em indie rock band pulls pop a few inches closer to its swirling vortex of bottomless sonic cacophony. Whatever the case, if Merriweather has gotten under your skin, you’ve probably convinced yourself that songs like “Summertime Clothes” and “My Girls” are as big in the world as they are in your head. Judging by the wildly enthusiastic response that met Animal Collective Tuesday at The Riverside Theater, you may even be right.

The dressed-down trio of Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), Avey Tare (David Portner), and Geologist (Brian Weitz) was greeted with an arena-sized roar that would have knocked Creed clear out of its leather pants a few blocks over at the Bradley Center. A new generation clearly wants to embrace Animal Collective as their own kind of classic rock band, if “rock” is still a relevant term for music that draws equally from rave culture and underground, lysergic-laced folk. The Riverside was probably the only place on Earth last night where more people knew and loved Animal Collective than not, and the young-ish crowd banded together to express its commitment to these unlikely rock stars in surprisingly boisterous fashion.

Pity anyone who came into Tuesday’s show without knowing any of the songs beforehand, because no matter how captivating Animal Collective has been recently on record, it can still be a damn difficult band to access live in concert. Standing behind tables decked out with white sheets, rainbow-colored lights, and thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment, Animal Collective didn’t perform as much as push buttons for a couple of hours.

If you didn’t have the studio versions in your head to guide you, it might have been hard to find much melody in otherwise tuneful songs like “Guys Eyes” and “Daily Routine.” All those layers of sound intricately pieced together in the studio inevitably turn to muddy goo when they’re replicated live. Even for ardent admirers like me, it was like the concert was playing on a booming car stereo whizzing by the bedroom window in the middle of the night.

Even the best songs—the rousing set-closing match-up of “Fireworks” and “Brother Sport” has to be the No. 1 highlight—were at least partially trampled by the sheer forward velocity (not to mention volume) of the music. It was kinetic, yes, but the non-stop blur wasn’t exactly dynamic, and as the band stretched every song into a shape-shifting jam the concert veered occasionally into tedium, particularly during a disappointing encore that was saved only by the unbeatable “Leaf House” from 2004’s Sung Tongs.

To call Animal Collective excessive or self-indulgent isn’t exactly a criticism (or at least it shouldn’t be), because the band’s let-it-all-hang-out ethos results in wonder about as often as it induces yawns. Merriweather is as close as Animal Collective has gotten to pop accessiblity, but there’s no reason to think that whatever the band does next will be similarly embraced. In fact, the smart money is on Animal Collective going in the opposite direction. That’s worthy of appreciation, if not always adoration.