Panda Bear’s latest album blends sly deception with melodic allure, wistfulness, and a boundless experimental spirit. Mirroring Van Dyke Parks’ *Song Cycle*, which wove bluegrass, orchestral surprises, and theatrical flair into discussions of fading trends, Noah Lennox reframes ten rock tracks with reggae, dub, ghostly echoes, sustained tones, open chords, vintage pop distillation, and muted ska inflections. Prior to 2022’s *Reset* (a collaboration with Sonic Boom), Lennox maintained a steady solo output: *Tomboy* (2011), *Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper* (2015), and *Buoys* (2019). His move to Domino Records during this period brought a broader scope but never quite recaptured the fluid unease of his 2007 landmark, *Person Pitch*—though those later records were far from weak, with *Grim Reaper* offering its own reliable pleasures.

While *Person Pitch* stands as this century’s closest answer to *Pet Sounds*, its warmth and ingenuity echo through his new work, particularly in the muted glow of “Anywhere but Here.” That earlier album’s dense tapestry of psychedelia, sampled loops, intricate instrumentation, and ingenuous melodic color remains the solo pinnacle of the Animal Collective sphere—a work that profoundly influenced artists from Grimes to Bradford Cox, Annie Clark, Vampire Weekend, and Jessica Pratt. Its only flaw was the long absence of a true follow-up. Until now.

Though this new collection contains Lennox’s strongest material since “My Girls,” nothing feels repurposed. No track here ensnares listeners in the *Smiley Smile*–esque haze of “Comfy in Nautica” or “Bros,” though “Praise” nears that territory. Instead, a trio of songs—“Just as Well,” “Ferry Lady,” “Venom’s In”—illuminates fresh ground in Lennox’s craft, recalling how melodies on Haruomi Hosono’s *Hosono House* shift and cascade through flawless sequencing. The album feels more direct and grounded than much of his prior work, built on crisp, classic rock structures, lively energy, and fewer overt experiments.

The involvement of his Animal Collective bandmates—Deakin on co-production and keys, Avey Tare on noise, Geologist on “sounds”—marks the first time all appear on a Panda Bear solo release, deepening its texture. Standout “Ends Meet” also includes vocals from Maria Reis and Lennox’s partner, Rivka Ravede of SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE. While hints of reggae fusion surface, they’re often enveloped by the same radiant pop that drives another highlight, “Ferry Lady.” Yet “Ends Meet” holds a baroque elegance, guided by Lennox’s murmured mantra: “Just keep it in the groove, don’t let up.”

“Ferry Lady” itself briefly echoes the breezy bounce of Sugar Ray’s “Fly” before unfolding into synth brass, airy beats, and fluid samples. The collaboration between Lennox and Deakin yields playful, meandering patterns, bubbly vocals, and layered phrases. These songs feel fuller than the sparse *Buoys*; Lennox’s delivery on “Just as Well” nearly turns to yodeling, while the somber spirals of “Left in the Cold” dissolve into the spacious, six-minute drift of “Elegy for Noah Lou,” which itself fractures into field recordings and hushed drones. Its closing segment evokes the fragile clarity of Robin Pecknold’s voice in Fleet Foxes.

The album’s first stretch ranks among Lennox’s best, from the radiant opener “Praise” (channeling *20/20*–era Beach Boys) to the dub-inflected reinvention of “50mg.” Here, a more exposed side of Lennox emerges, reflecting on love and distance with bruised but unbroken honesty.

Ravede’s contributions extend to backing vocals and the cover art, which recalls her own band’s recent EP. Cameos also include Lennox’s daughter on “Anywhere but Here” and, most strikingly, Cindy Lee’s Patrick Flegel, whose guitar work on closer “Defense” recalls both the inventive fury of his band Women and the detailed chaos of *Diamond Jubilee*. Released early as a single despite closing the sequence, “Defense” sways with hypnotic, circular verses. Flegel’s precise fingerpicking arrives early, soothing the mix before his solo erupts—tight, focused, and brilliantly unhinged.

For decades, musicians have chased the shadow of Brian Wilson’s brilliance, a pursuit likely forever unfinished. Lennox, however, has learned to inhabit the contours of Wilson’s enduring spell. Yet within this record’s style-hopping joy, he uncovers a deeper alignment: his artistic inquiries belong less to Wilson’s domain and more to that of Van Dyke Parks. It’s tempting to place any ornate pop architecture alongside Parks’ own classical-tinged explosions, just as critics often cite hypnagogic reference points at the slightest hint of nostalgia. But as *Song Cycle* once did, Lennox now twists the conversation, warping rock’s framework through a kaleidoscope of borrowed sounds. This album is no simple reflection—it’s a layered puzzle for studio devotees.