Released last Tuesday, October 9, Sunset Rubdown's Random Spirit Lover is a record that both daunts and delights. Here, we muse on the contents after having spent a week attempting to digest this incredible combination of wild and majestic sounds.

Sunset's the perfect time for a rubdown: recover from the day and get inspired for night by a romantic rubbing. And who wouldn't want a Random Spirit Lover to give them that rubdown? We've often dreamed of this, ourselves. Thankfully, Sunset Rubdown (the band, not the concept) has given us exactly what we needed: a random spirit lover that, in the form of a gorgeous new album, gives us the love, the rejuvenation, and the inspiration we need at the end of a long day--or any other time, really. This majestic collection of quasi-spiritual songs will have you believing in something at the end of its near-hour runtime: if not in god, or kings, then at least in frontman Spencer Krug's virtuosity.

In an age of iPods, Random Spirit Lover is an album best listened to from start to finish, and most preferably performed live to you while you repose in a meadow. If this is not possible, and you must listen to Sunset Rubdown's latest digitally, at least listen to the songs as they were meant to be ordered--even if you eventually pick favorites and skip over a few, it's worth remembering the way albums used to (and sometimes still do) flow from song to song to create an actual story beyond sound. It's a magical experience, especially if you haven't had it for a while--or ever (we're looking at you, high schoolers). If you want an overview of Krug's musical credentials, check out Pop Matters; this review is more about the experience of listening to an album.

"The Mending of the Gown" is an upbeat beginning to a sometimes somber record. Lilting guitar and keyboard melodies and rollicking lyrics eventually give way to a reflective, conversational chorus. It's a fun back-and-forth that showcases the group's ability to entertain as well as provoke. The lyrics "she had a name, she had a spirit," begin the combination of earthiness and soul that permeates the record, but soon give way: "my name and the spirit are both corrupt and if you hold me close you gotta hold me up." "It's an actor thing, she's just pretending," so hold up the illusion as long as you can.

After that wild expedition into imagination, the album quiets down with "Magic Vs. Midas," a more introspective track that's quiet, almost whispery, with cricket-chirping strings that eventually build back up into strength. "By magic I mean trickery" sums up a theme of the album: the obvious isn't always so; you must make it apparent. The swarm of vocals at the end would be the perfect background to the return of your personal king or queen, if you have one.

A series of stomps fire up an almost-jig at the beginning of "Up on Your Leopard, Upon the End of Your Feral Days." It’s a leprechaun hymn of sorts, and we hope to hear it on St. Patrick’s Day, preferably at the end of a rainbow. Breaking abruptly into Midas gold moments of protest partway through, the song then returns to Irish madness segueing into dreamy chants.

"The Courtesan Has Sung" is a courtly song with a staccato round of royal voices in the background. Apart from the inclusion of the word "whore" in the lyrics, you can almost see yourself in a royal palace somewhere listening to a group of medieval court attendants singing the chorus here (it'll definitely get stuck in your head--trust us; it's one of the stickier songs on the record). The rounds swirl into a decrescendo that leads perfectly into...

"Winged/Wicked Things," which floats along like an evil water bird on a pond. Each note's a swoop of the webbed feet paddling it across the water, waltzing between heavenly and devilish noises. The line "Oh, I see now, It's just smoke" is a reminder that music isn't much but a curl of unseeable smokelike soundwaves stretching into our ears, amounting to nothing if we don't process it somehow. Krug is asking us to look beyond the smoke and into the fire of instrumentals creating the rocking smoky air disturbances and think about the meaning of what we hear.

"Colt Stands Up, Grows Horns" progresses from inquisitive voices over cymbal rolls and keyboards into synthy progressions of sound, representing the horns’ fitful growth. As the progressions and keys layer on one another, you can almost see the questioning colt's antlers develop into something impressive. The eventual addition of drums behind the climbing melody only adds to the nervous uncertainty: could these horns be used to kill? What am I growing these for? A cacophony of instruments at the end of "Colt" fades into a small, clear melody used to lead us out of the colt stage and into the life of a "Stallion" that trots along, stately and strong.

"For the Pier (And Dead Shimmering)" vibrates with keyboards and what feels like a personal address in the vocals, all ending up in whirl of glowing waters—a whirlpool perhaps. It's something perfect to jump in, be spun by, and sail out of. The song glides along effortlessly, breaks into harsh rapids momentarily, and returns to the swift but swimmable currents. It’s a gorgeous song to float through again and again.

"The Taming of the Hands That Came Back To Life" combines an industrial-strength beat with graceful bells tiptoeing over blended vocals. "Do you think that the second movement has too many violins?" is a rhetorical question that accentuates the essential unfinishedness of music: a song's never sung (or played) exactly the same twice, and recorded versions take away from the organic nature of live performance.

The echoes and exchanges in "Setting vs. Rising" definitely bring to mind evening vs morning, dawn vs twilight. Which is better? it’s ultimately not a question of superiority, but substance, and individual application—which is more pleasing to you at what time: to leave or to arrive? "Do you call a setting sun a sun rising?" How can you ever really know the difference?

With a title like "Trumpet, Trumpet, Toot! Toot!" you’d expect some sort of Sesame Street silliness, but this track is actually dark and demanding. There’s a lot more keyboard than trumpet in the song, and it almost approaches Halloween spookiness with the howling background lyrics and rabid racing guitars. Alternating between controlled and crazy, the .

"Child-Heart Losers" is by far the shortest song on the album, but manages to wrap up its themes nicely, including a somber round and another mention of the violins contemplated earlier. Lyrics like "fire makes you go" and "you were pretty before you knew" remind us how great we can become when passionately motivated yet unconscious of our passions.

That's part of what makes Random Spirit Lover so enjoyable: it's unusual, unaffected, and earnest. There's none of the hipster posing it's easy to come to expect, just moving songs that may be imperfect in parts but are all the more endearing for their reality. A little bit Van Occupanther but a lot more majestic, Random Spirit Lover sounds like choruses of kings and queens squealing and squirming in unusual situations. It may sound weird--and it is--but it's also wonderful, and more than worth listening to. That may seem like a flaky new age response, but this album is truly guaranteed to make you feel at least a little bit more kingly (or queenly), especially on multiple listens. Try it out today from Jagjaguwar.

Sunset Rubdown live image from gaelenh on flickr.