Here is an album that
did not get enough attention last year—The
Jungle, by Plants and Animals. It was released in October 2020 and is Plants and
Animals’ fifth studio album and first in four years. The Montreal indie-rock
band broke through with its 2008 album, Parc Avenue, which
featured the glorious kiss off, “Bye, Bye, Bye.” But coverage of subsequent
albums dwindled. High-profile music site Pitchfork had reviewed every Plants and Animals album since
2008, but not this one. I do not know why: the band self-produces wonderful,
beautiful-sounding records, and The Jungle is no exception.
The
title track features a restless bass and head-nodding beat. Plants and Animals
has always captured this kind of nervous cool. The last 90
seconds jams out. The song sounds casual, but that belies its precision. The good ones can make it sound easy. Then comes “Love That Boy” with
its acoustic layers, electric guitar shimmering out alien, submerged little notes,
and trippy, translucent lyrics: “Is the moon following us? Is it moving at
exactly the same speed? All experience connected, holding on its fingertips.”
The floaty sounds complement the tight drumming and loudly churning bass.
What
follows are the album’s best parts. “House on Fire” is fucking great. The
hi-hat riding atop a throbbing, plucky bass; the synthesizer that comes in at
51 seconds like the air horn on a semi-trailer truck; the programmed
synthesizer that darts through scales; and then the verse—delivered with
ebullient focus and clarity: “Your house is burning—your home is on fire!”
Plants
and Animals capitalize on that intensity with “Sacrifice.” This song includes
sudden rhythm changes. Insistent tom drums and gained-up guitar hack away through
several chippy bars in the verse, then chords splish as the singer implores,
“Hold on to yourself / Don't you want to die?” Then the song abruptly
downshifts into a dependency-shedding chorus: “I gave you the best years of my
life, volunteered on your behalf / sacrifice—it doesn't matter—for dopamine and
lots of laughs.”
A
cassette tape that sounds like it was left in the car all summer plays a
recording of an acoustic guitar picking out a chord. Jangly, slightly warped.
That is “Get My Mind.” At 21 seconds, the hi-hat opens up, the drummer raps on
the snare, and the music tumbles into a song. A guitar slices off a thick,
fuzzy riff of single, heavy notes, and the arrangement builds into a spiritual
experience.
And
it is here that The Jungle pulls back. “Le Queens” steams. A
woman sings, “Sous les lumières dans le Queens / Tu t'embrasse avec moi / Ton
visage blanche sous les fars / Pour la premiere fois”; then a switch to
English: “Baby, don't you laugh ‘cause hearts get broke like that.” On “In Your
Eyes,” a heavy phaser with subtle wah-wah effect produces underwater tones. And
then the finale: “Bold” walks in quietly. But at the chorus, it cries out for
your attention: “Waiting for you to be more bold / The drama rising, running
out of time / Okay, what's next?” I first heard The Jungle two months ago. I
have listened to it over and over, and I know what is next. I will return to The
Jungle as time runs out.
