Grizzly midlife reflections: Sanjoy Narayan writes on the band Animal Collective

The band’s vocalist Panda Bear has released his first solo album in five years. It’s warm, laidback, introspective, and a unique group effort.

In January 2009, Animal Collective released Merriweather Post Pavilion, a kaleidoscopic burst of psychedelic pop that felt like a cultural detonation.

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Named after a Maryland venue steeped in hometown nostalgia for two of the band’s four members, Avey Tare (given name: David Portner) and Geologist (Brian Weitz), the album crystallised years of experimentation into something transcendent.

With Panda Bear (Noah Lennox) and Tare trading vocals over Geologist’s shimmering synths and samples, tracks such as My Girls and Brother Sport married ecstatic hooks to a reverb-drenched, electronic sprawl.

Merriweather wasn’t just critically acclaimed (Pitchfork crowned it Album of the Year), it was the band’s commercial peak. The album hit #13 on the Billboard 200, selling over 200,000 copies by 2012. For a group born in the DIY ethos of Baltimore’s underground, this was a leap into the zeitgeist. It was the most accessible album they had ever made.

The eight albums that came before were either too avant-garde for their time, or pushed the boundaries of experimentation a bit too hard, and appealed only to a sharply focused cult of fanatical followers, not the mainstream.

Animal Collective’s eventual success wasn’t an accident. Since their early days as teenage collaborators, Tare, Geologist, Bear and Deakin (Joshua Dibb), all now in their mid-40s, had been crafting a sound that defied easy categorisation — part freak folk, part noise, part electronica, all wrapped in a hallucinatory haze.

Their discography, from the primal yelp of Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished (2000) to the uneasy pop of Strawberry Jam (2007), built a cult following that thrived on the band’s unpredictability. Fans didn’t just listen; they immersed themselves in a sonic universe where boundaries dissolved.

Merriweather distilled this ethos into its most accessible form, proving that experimental rock could resonate beyond niche blogs and basement shows.

The band’s collaborative nature is its heartbeat. Each member brings to it a distinct voice: there is Tare’s wild-eyed intensity, Geologist’s textural wizardry, Deakin’s grounding presence; yet they meld into a singular organism. Even as Merriweather leaned heavily on Bear’s dreamy melodies and Tare’s frenetic energy, the album felt like a group triumph.

This spirit extends beyond their core releases. Tare’s solo work, such as the 2010 album Down There, dives into swampy introspection. Geologist and Deakin have contributed to the collective’s live evolution. Their label, Paw Tracks, founded in 1999 as Soccer Stars, even became a hub for like-minded oddballs, cementing their influence on indie’s weirder fringes.

Amid this collective alchemy, Bear has carved his own path. His solo career, launched with the 1999 album Panda Bear, hit its stride with 2007’s Person Pitch. A sun-soaked collage of looped samples and layered harmonies, it is often hailed as a masterpiece. It sounds a bit like Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson has met DJ Shadow at a languid resort. It showcases Bear’s knack for blending avant-garde impulses with pop immediacy.

Albums such as Tomboy (2011) and Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper (2015) followed, each one grittier, dubbier, and always personal. His voice, a croon drenched in reverb, became a touchstone for artists from Daft Punk to Solange.

Now, in 2025, Bear has delivered Sinister Grift, his first solo album in five years. Recorded at his Lisbon home studio, with Deakin co-producing, it is a warm, laidback affair, less experimental than his past work, yet rich with emotional depth.

For the first time, all four Animal Collective members contribute, alongside guests such as the Canadian band Cindy Lee and Rivka Ravede of the US indie rock band Spirit of the Beehive. Tracks such as Praise and Ferry Lady hum with reggae-rock ease, while Elegy for Noah Lou drifts into mournful abstraction.

The album is a midlife reckoning, reflecting on divorce (his marriage to designer Fernanda Pereira ended a few years ago) and fatherhood (his 19-year-old daughter Nadja Lennox recites in Portuguese, on Anywhere but Here). Critics call it his most straightforwardly beautiful record, a shift from the polyrhythmic complexity of old.

This evolution mirrors Animal Collective’s own arc. Where Merriweather was a communal explosion, Sinister Grift feels intimate, a solo artist leaning on old friends. Yet it retains that defining genre: psychedelic pop with a human pulse, rooted in technology but never distant.

Bear plays most instruments himself, channelling the band’s DIY spirit into a garage-rock vibe. It’s not as trippy as Person Pitch or as chaotic as Merriweather, but it’s unmistakably Panda Bear: melodic, textured, bittersweet.

Animal Collective’s following — those obsessive fans who pore over every release — will find plenty to love here. They’ve stuck with the band through line-up shifts and sonic pivots, from the abrasive early days to 2022’s reflective Time Skiffs.

Bear’s solo work offers a different intimacy, a direct line to his soul. Sinister Grift doesn’t chase the youthful headiness of Merriweather’s heyday. It is a mature, sunlit exhale, proving that, even in middle-age, Panda Bear — and Animal Collective — can still surprise.

As Bear navigates his next chapter, his bandmates remain his anchor, their collaborative legacy as vital as ever.

(To write in with feedback, email sanjoy.narayan@gmail.com)