It's not exactly clear where Chicago duo Anteloper is headed on their third release, or what path on their electro-psychedelic improvisational journey they're taking to get there, but the trip itself is proving to be a blast. While there are once again elements of jazz, post-rock, krautrock, fractured electronica, and a general potpourri of "let's try something" musical styles here, Pink Dolphins is aggressively genre-agnostic, blithely combining sonic signatures in a wooly, loose-limbed fashion that feels like the result of a large group of improvisers. Anteloper is still just Jaimie Branch and Jason Nazary (along with, on this album, producer Jeff Parker [Tortoise]) and the two are still doing exactly whatever the hell occurs to them. The result is an album that stretches in all directions, combining experimentation with a groove-oriented rootedness which makes the whole affair very, very fun. From the record's start—"Inia," a magnificent collision between bleepy-bloopy electronics and psychedelic trumpets—it's clear that Branch and Nazary are traveling the spaceways, pushing themselves and the listener into uncharted territories of sound that are both organically improvised and mercilessly manipulated. The vocals that pop up on "Earthlings" are something of a surprise for this largely instrumental project, but Branch's voice is less about singing and more about vibe-maintenance. “I was lightly tripping on LSD and checking out Jeff’s loop when the melody came to me,” she says, and that definitely checks out with the song's trippy impression. That un-fussy approach to improvisation is what makes Pink Dolphins such an appealing listen. Most of the tracks are rooted in subtle, elongated iterations on melody and groove, and sometimes the changes that the duo works through are inscrutable in the moment but clearer when taking a wider view. The result is a fuzzily prismatic record that is absolutely unafraid to wander around in its own mind for a while. That said, "tight" is absolutely not an adjective that could be applied to any of these tracks; the briefest song here is "Baby Bota Halloceanation," a four-minute blast wound around a dense, syncopated rhythm and some blistering trumpet work. The rest of the album is similar to a cut like the eight-minute "Earthlings," which just kinda forgets where it is about halfway through, leaving just the bass groove and loop. However, album closer "One Living Genus" is unapologetically shaggy. Clocking in at nearly 15 minutes, the cut is front-loaded with its best, most mind-expanding sounds, leaving the last five minutes to simply fade into the ether. To be clear, these observations are not critiques, as the after-echoes of their sounds are as important as their primary impact, giving each of the cuts a full presence that's a little unwieldy but an absolute joy to listen to. Anteloper is making defiantly psychedelic music that's unbound by either genre or structural formality, and one hopes they never decide that they need to start following the rules. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz