Soundcarriers albums don’t come around all that often, so it’s best to perk up and dig in when they do. The latest carries on the band’s tradition of woozy, narcotic psychedelia. Their psych-pop remains pinned to a lost time — hung somewhere in the clouds between The Free Design and Broadcast — a quivering coil that’s hazed and hallucinated. The band’s external connections have often found them attracting like-minded travelers, netting a voice over from Elijah Wood on their last album and becoming entwined in the fabric of the oft-overlooked television gem Lodge 49 — embodying the show’s unusual alchemy in every fiber of their sound. Wilds grows out of the intangible glow inherent in the band’s work. The album pulses with a vibrancy, soaked in colors and trapped between dream and reality.

Atop percolating rhythms, the band laces flutes, blossoming organ, and layers of vocals. While the bulk of the album seems set to take flight at any moment, the record is firmly anchored by thick ropes of bass that lap at the speakers in tactile phrases. That throb creates a through-line for the record, undulating and insistent. In this way, the songs on Wilds seep into the senses, overcome by the perfumed air around them, invading the brain and triggering their dreamscape like Dorothy drowned in an expanse of poppies. The band has always existed outside of the whims of the day, even by psych-pop standards, and they show no signs of embracing the zeitgeist once again. Wilds is the band at their best, tumbling through the looking glass once again to touch the heart of the kaleidoscope.

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