I realize that sometimes my taste is a bit all over the map, but I’ve found that I apparently like some testosterone-laden music. But like indie testosterone. Perhaps it’s my love of wacky drumming and shouted choruses, both of which indicate manliness, I guess. But like the Pixies before them, there is always an edge of vulnerability mixed inside that otherwise brawny package. Like The Wrens, they sometimes drown their music in a little too much reverb for their own good, but are, at heart, a pop band writing later-day Cure music. But ultimately what gets me into this album is the energy and aggression of the underpinnings. Call it post-punk with a heart — and a brain.