Review Summary: Unicorns, dinosaurs, duck-rabbits
A long time ago, I wrote down that
Anthology “brings out the extraordinary in the extra ordinary - the hypnotizing banality of incoming streetlights and passing cars”, but failed to speculate on
why it would have done this. Even recently, I couldn’t tell if
Anthology was about the mind of an adult trying to re-experience naïveté and innocence, or the mind of a child trying to grasp adult situations. The compilation is simultaneously whimsical and weary; it’s playful, bouncing math rock, yet the spring in the step is, almost imperceptibly, dampened.
Sometimes
Anthology seems to embrace light-hearted, childlike absurdity: a traffic jam filled with exotic creatures (“Silverbeast”), the random evocation of unicorns (“Unicorns”), sudden clapping during a build-up (“Over the Moon”). Rhythms shift capriciously, evoke rough-and-tumble play. You could even interpret some songs as describing youthful stubbornness in the face of disagreement -- consider how a young child pouts when (rightfully) scolded by a parent. But the same sort of childish irrationality, applied to an adult relationship (“You’re being such a pain / Will you be here some time”) gave me pause. And then I realized that “Shamu”, which at first glance seemed to be about being captivated by nature, had something go wrong: a kite getting stuck in a tree, the tree becoming a “germinating enemy.” And “Tired Eyes” is simply jarring in its subject matter, being a critique of a man “flirting with girls half his age.” At any rate, I figured that regression might have been used as a defence mechanism against heartbreak and cynicism.
But the bittersweet feel I get from
Anthology doesn’t seem to come from some twisted idea of regression and unproductive escapism. Perhaps it represents the last bastion of innocence -- a structure humming with rejuvenating energy, maintaining belief in the fantastic even as these conceptions become increasingly troubled. If you’re tired of exegesis, I understand; I suspect that the appeal of
Anthology usually just lies in the fact that it is
fun, charming easily with dazzling guitarwork, sweet, summery melodies, and pleasant surprises. “Over the Moon” lives up to its name when it unexpectedly soars to an epic, choral high. Even then, you can still notice sombre moments -- the hushed “Outerspace”, featuring a more restrained vocal performance; a touch of dissonant frustration in “Tired Eyes”; the ending of “Dinosaurs” that trails off on a resigned note.
I’m tempted to conclude that
Anthology separates its child and adult selves in such a way that neither bleeds into the other. Instead, I notice one or the other, like with the duck-rabbit illusion. It’s through rapidly alternating between the two that I understand the whole of
Anthology -- one moment a pure playfulness, the next moment a deep ache. But they never seem to hit together at the exact same time. It keeps me looking.
