On Sinister Grift, Panda Bear, one-fourth of the experimental pop aficionados, Animal Collective, invites the ghosts to sing along. There’s a worn, analog warmth to the album, like thumbing through an old photo album where the colours have all gone soft at the edges. Gone are the dense, kaleidoscopic collages of Person Pitch or the crystalline layering of Buoys. What we get instead is something more direct, more bruised, and strangely, more comforting.
From the opening notes of songs like “Praise,” which gives me a Beach Boys vibe, or “Ferry Lady,” it’s clear Noah Lennox is working with a different kind of palette: faded doo-wop harmonies, tape-hiss acoustics, and off-kilter rhythms that feel half-remembered. It’s like he’s channelling old AM radio signals picked up late at night on a childhood road trip, familiar, but always on the verge of fading out.
There’s a bittersweetness running through the album, especially on tracks like “50mg” and “Left in the Cold,” where his lyrics trace the outlines of loss and longing with a quiet grace. The production is sparse but warm, letting his vocals take center stage in a way they rarely have before. It’s vulnerable, but never indulgent.
But Sinister Grift isn’t all sorrow and slow dances. There’s a sly playfulness tucked into songs like “Anywhere But Here,” and the closer “Defence,” with its fuzzed-out solo courtesy of Cindy Lee, feels like the final burst of colour in an old Super 8 reel.
This isn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake—it’s a lived-in, lovingly crafted reminder that even in grief and uncertainty, beauty can sneak in through the cracks. Sinister Grift might just be Panda Bear’s most quietly powerful record yet.
