Somewhat evoking the immediacy of the pop-hooks in Cloud Nothings (2011) and Attack on Memory (2012), as well as the intimate displacement of Here and Nowhere Else (2014), the new album is as catchy as it is enthralling in its relatable humane sense of self-reflection. Main-man Dylan Baldi’s lyrical musings continue to be as heart-rending and inviting as always, as it evolves while still remaining to be one of the most compelling elements to his music (the band began as Baldi’s solo bedroom project).

The rest of the band remains as dependable as ever. Drummer Jayson Gerycz continues to be Cloud Nothings’ secret weapon, exploding with economically placed hits and drum fills. Though the songs do not call for him to be as unhinged as he sounded on Here and Nowhere Else, Gerycz remains the best kind of rock drummer; accentuating the songs as much as needed while still stomping each of his parts with a characteristic punch. With him, bass player TJ Duke lays down a solid foundation with minimalist, fluid lines that punch and pull as required.

It isn’t yet clear how much new guitarist Chris Brown has affected the band’s sound — or what parts he plays on the recording here — but if the lead guitars are his, they provide a good amount of counter melodies that especially know when to take the forefront beside the vocals.

The hooks remain plentiful, though they don’t burst with the surprising twists and turns of Here and Nowhere Else. Producer John Goodmanson (Death Cab for Cutie, Blonde Redhead, Bikini Kill) does not restrain much Baldi’s penchant for shaking conventional musical arrangements as he shifts the songwriting into something less hectic in feel. Hence, fewer unexpected turns and more prevalent choruses are present.

Read also: Album review: 'Blossom Diary... Is Dead' by Blossom Diary

What it loses in unexpectedness, the record gains with unswerving nuances. The music and lyrics intertwine to become a strong whole. Baldi’s reflective musings find its dynamics through the music carrying it. Witness “Modern Act,” which lays its heart out with the lines “Do you know what it’s like/ To be out and alive?/ To say you’re doing alright/ Yeah, you’re doing just fine?/ When you feel like an ocean/ Coming out of a creek/Filling rivers to wait for you,” as the instrument slowly builds a pre-chorus into a refrain of “I want a life, that’s all I need lately/ I am alive but all alone.”

This same sense of meditative melancholy sustains the record more than it has ever before on the band’s catalogue.

“Things Are Right With You” feature repeated chants of “Feel right, feel right, feel right/ Feel lighter,” which follows “You give up what you know/ Can’t explain where to go/ And you move in a world that moves on its own,” and builds itself from a seemingly simple self-calming exercise onto a bursting cry of hopefulness. That it is paired with a verse that confesses “Saw what I’d done and who I’d be/ I was uncomfortable with me,” the crescendo of crashing cymbals and loud guitars feels united in prayer.

For all its crushing emotionality, the record — and really, Baldi’s modus operandi — is a manipulatively simple sounding rock record that is texturally more complex the more you listen to it.

For all the infectiousness its speeding-train forcefulness offers, Life Without Sound feels deeper the more it exposes itself.

These days, it’s a gift to find an indie rock record (and band) that can still present both primal immediacy and honest emotionality. Life Without Sound is a winner.

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