Sunset Rubdown’s music is lo-fi, shell-shocked, dissonant, and very reminiscent of David Bowie/Brian Eno’s post-apocalypse fixation, circa Station to Station. The images and music that singer Spencer Krug has put to tape tell of futility and disconnectedness through his warbled, pained singing—a style that almost distracts too much from the music. It’s similar to the way that Conor Oberst’s rawness sometimes overwhelms Bright Eyes. However, there are standouts like “I’m Sorry That I Sang on Your Hands That Have Been in the Grave,” where a weirdly gorgeous meditation over a click-track coughs up a glimmering loneliness. On “The Men Are Called Horsemen There” glam and drama are dialed all the way up and mixed with a heavy Spectorian wall of sound. “Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings” swirls with tension, then opens into an ’80s New-Romantic sad dance party. Employing unusual instruments, off-kilter arrangements, and an all-around herky-jerky feel, the album is intriguing and unsettling, not unlike Krug’s other projects, Frog Eyes and Wolf Parade.