Something something John Cusack (the jokes write themselves)…
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[5.88]
Patrick St. Michel: The trickster of EDM craves laughs one day, and so he took on the form of an EDM DJ, all tight-fitting jeans and Nordic-blonde hair, and went to the club. As he ambled towards the DJ booth, a bouncer stopped him. “I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “Ah, my good man,” the trickster said, “you may not know my face, but you surely know my hit song!” The trickster approached the MacBook and began playing his tune. “This just sounds like Avicii, or Tiesto!,” shouted the bouncer, but the trickster just grinned. “Ahhh, but wait, here comes the drop!” And the drop dropped, and the trickster laughed as everyone fell for his sorta quieter portion, which tricked the whole club into thinking he didn’t sound like every EDM song they had heard before.
[3]
Anthony Easton: In the beginning, and then around 3:26, are those marimbas, or some kind of Afro-Brazilian drums, or castanets, or coconuts? The rest of this twisted rave up is gorgeous, but the knocking sound amid the noise might be one of my favorite minor details in a year rife with sameness.
[8]
Alfred Soto: Good news: no vocals, hence no emotive cliches. Bad news: EDM cliches.
[3]
Scott Mildenhall: Dave Pearce would love this. It’s mostly about the disco bubble wrap-popping — incredible to think that Martin Garrix (only five years old!) managed to perform it all live using only two fingers and the inside of his mouth — but also the anticipation for it; a clear knack for tension and release bringing about music for going full pelt in a dodgem to.
[7]
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: “Animals” filters itself down different avenues, skittering and shimmering over click-clack percussion before the expected prize presents itself: the brightest and showiest riff, careening wildly and at great speed. Then Garrix plummets into a skeleton lick, “minimal” in concept and even more alien in execution, clattering and hollow alongside trance’s messy grandeur. The surprise wearing thin, he repeats until the main razor-lick crumples away, into the original beat and then finally to the filter it crawled out from. Then, a last second spurt of a cartoon sound effect — boing! Five minutes of carefully pitched and placed movements and at its end, an unexpected Hanna-Barbera tribute awaits. In this moment, Garrix good-naturedly thumbs at the rituals of his own track — the pauses, the tension-for-show, the glittery brashness and glimmering consolidation. This is something of an art, yes. But hopefully without chastising your involvement (and your natural urge to its drops and bursts), he accepts all art has a patina of nonsense too. Boing, indeed.
[8]
Will Adams: The most amazing moment is the first beat of the drop. Just a giant kick drum. No white noise hiss. No synth stabs. No piano chords. Just that kick. There’s a knocking synth that enters in — like hammers striking vertebrae — but that’s the only addition for a while. After teasing us with a standard house buildup, Garrix reminds us that we’re just fucking animals and sucks out all the excess that has turned the genre into a caricature. All that’s left is that single, throbbing pulse that shakes me to my core.
[8]
Brad Shoup: It’s like every transition on a pop station’s Friday-night mix strung together.
[3]
Edward Okulicz: Idea: take this song, remove the titular snatch of vocal, and replace it with “You better work, bitch!,” and voila, good becomes classic.
[7]