Don’t listen to Young Animals if you are driving a car and maybe not even while riding a bike, unless it comes with a bell, over-sized handle bars and you are wearing a helmet. Otherwise, when you drive off a cliff out of pure anxiety, you may indeed be hurt. The album is like sitting through a horror movie, waiting for something terrifying to happen, the important climax. The thing is, it never does.
The music begins to build, slowly — the baritone becomes louder every second and your nails dig into your chair. You cover your eyes and peak out through the holes between your fingers ready for something, anything, to jump out at you. Usually it does and the anxiety is rewarded, but not on Young Animals.
The thirteen-song album meanders over a similar beat throughout, but ultimately lacks that exciting punch to draw you in, keep you listening and paying attention.
If you listen to it a few times so you know what to expect, then you might come to enjoy Young Animals steady, simple and sedentary flow. Just don’t hope for anything more than a few foot taps and head nods after the first listen.