He’s revisiting some of the most fertile soil of his past work - bringing together his childlike enthusiasm with his penchant for gloomy undercurrents - and making it all sound as fresh and blissful as ever. It’s undoubtedly Avey’s best solo work to date

There are a few too many noodling sound collages across its 15 tracks, but at its peak – on the delicate, maudlin Ms Secret or the chirpingly melodic Jackson 5 – Eucalyptus reminds you of what made Tare and his bandmates such a thrillingly different prospect in the first place.

Eucalyptus stands unexpectedly far apart from much of Avey Tare’s solo output, dialing in his usual unhinged zaniness for a calm, collected stream of songs that flirt with accessibility without sacrificing their loose, dispersed sense of assemblage.

The overflow of ideas, lyrics, and themes doesn’t turn spastic and blurry like it has on records past. Eucalyptus, though adventurous, is down to earth and focused.

Recorded with Animal Collective part-timer Josh Dibb, Avey Tare’s Eucalyptus could never be accused of pandering—no album as slack and rickety as this has sights on the masses—yet in some ways it embodies a romantic ideal that’s nearly as sure-fire as Merriweather’s imagining of a perfect pop album: the reclusive, personal record, written seemingly with no expectation that anybody will even hear it.

With Eucalyptus it's clear that Avey Tare is not going for coherency, as he's brought together a sonic smorgasbord of home tapings, demos and found sounds, and pieces them together in a way that’s beguiling and confusing in equal measure.

With a playing time of over an hour, and a reflective, more often than not formless complexion, even acknowledging its subtle whimsy and California roots, Eucalyptus goes by like a long drive through the plains, rewarding the patient and attentive.