The Avalanches are back with the breezy, hallucinatory Wildflower

Whatever you might think about sampling others’ music rather than making your own, The Avalanches’ Since I Left You is arguably the apex of the art form/act of wanton criminality. The Australian group’s 2000 debut made even the expertly crate-digging DJ Shadow look like a bored Sam Goody browser. Its surgical extractions on thousands of vinyl castaways composed a monster headphone rave by shredding the kind of soul, disco, easy listening, and long-forgotten comedy records you can find nicotine-stained copies of crowding used bins everywhere. Theirs was a daring heist, one that exploded the craft of cinematically editing scraps of audio to create a dizzying, Technicolor three-reeler of musical celebration.
But it was still a heist. And during the 16 years since the album’s release, it’s easy to imagine The Avalanches’ core duo of Robbie Chater and Tony Di Blasi (co-founder Darren Seltmann left in 2014) wondering how they could ever top it, all while watching in dismay as the casual theft that was their way of life became music industry enemy No. 1. In a year when Taylor Swift is declaring war on YouTube and copyright lawyers are Kanye West’s most eager listeners, it seems the art of “plunderphonics” has never been more dangerous. And yet it’s never more widespread: Since 2000, everyone from Girl Talk to anyone else with Ableton on their laptop has made the mashup a genre unto itself. It’s also easy to imagine Chater and Di Blasi being fine with resting on a benchmark that’s only grown more legendary with their absence—one that’s even prompted fans to ask, with evident sympathy, whether it was simply “too good to follow up.”
Instead they’ve been pulled back in for one last score, albeit one that’s been given the legal all-clear. And if Wildflower lacks the same how’d-they-do-that awe after an entire generation of professional and bedroom imitators, the best compliment this sequel can receive is that it feels like a natural successor without being a total rehash. Chater has mentioned being inspired by the wall of sounds of Phil Spector and The Beach Boys, and the group itself has compared Wildflower to Brian Wilson’s Smile, a fitting analogy for an album that’s been so exhaustively tinkered over. Like Smile, it’s a far more abstract statement than Since I Left You’s transcontinental, 24-hour party vibe, taking that album’s occasional psychedelic smears and making them the focus, blending them with snatches of drunken revelers, morning DJs, swimming pool splashes, and criminal misdemeanors to create a blurry, hallucinatory block party of idle youth and endless summer.
That increased emphasis on breezy, sun-smacked pop—much of it provided here, for the first time, by original instrumentation and guest vocalists—is the most obvious distinction from Since I Left You. It’s also its biggest obstacle. Wildflower abounds with so many trilling flutes, Muzak strings, singing children, and Up With People positivity that at times it feels like being trapped on a malfunctioning Epcot Center ride. All that sunshine gets a bit exhausting, particularly during the 21-track record’s back third—bookended by two songs fronted by Mercury Rev’s Jonathan Donahue, whose sense of wide-eyed, acid-induced wonder (“Where do all the mermaids go?” he asks on “Colours”) saturates the entire album. Those with a low tolerance for smacked-out saccharinity may eventually find themselves longing for the dirty electro funk of a “Radio” or “Flight Tonight” to add some ballast to all this dreamy bliss; it’s for their lack that Wildflower falls just short of Since I Left You, whose pivots were slightly more unpredictable.