A strange band whose music defies description while inspiring a store of associations, Animal Collective meander through folk, noise and electronic frippery with an eye cocked forever toward the mystical. It's an approach best observed live in lofts and clubs throughout downtown Manhattan and the leading edge of Brooklyn, but Here Comes the Indian offers a suitably cracked and fogged-up window into Animal Collective's fabulist world. Capturing the group in plugged-in mode, songs like "Native Belle" take sprawling journeys through what sound like shamanic rituals, replete with murky chanting, dream-world electronics, and occasional fits of rock situated to break the spell. "Hey Light" revolves around patches of screaming and barking, lacing hot Krautrock guitars through a tightly wound song that unwinds with a sing-along handclap outro. "Panic" sounds almost ancient with its processed dessert moans, while "Slippi" suggests a would-be pop song from a planet different than our own. Reactions to the messy sonics are sure to differ, but it's hard to deny that Animal Collective sound like pretty much nobody else.