Arriving a decade into Cults' career, Host finds Madeline Follin and Brian Oblivion coming full circle and changing things up at the same time. Much of the album was recorded in Oblivion's apartment studio, the same way he and Follin created the song that started it all, 2010's viral hit "Go Outside." However, the duo's fourth album is the first to feature live instrumentation, and also the first to feature Follin as a songwriter as well as a singer and multi-instrumentalist. These changes sparked something special in Cults. While Offering's streamlined synth pop brought a refreshing clarity to their music, they're truly in their element when they giddily combine their sticky, hazy melodies with a wealth of sounds, as they do on Host. This time, their retro-futuristic sound harks back to the trip-hop heyday of the late '90s and early 2000s, particularly on "Trials," where strings and sparkling keyboards add extra drama and danger to Cults' way with a big, bittersweet chorus, and on "8th Avenue," which cloaks its tale of gaslighting with slinky bass lines and brass. Using the beauty of their music to disguise the darkness of their lyrics has always been a Cults specialty, and they do it even more expertly on "A Purgatory." As Follin coos "Can't end/Can't begin/The wheels keep spinning" while Joe Meek keyboards float in the distance, she and Oblivion capture the feeling of turning in never-ending circles almost too well. On songs like this and the celestial psych-pop finale "Monolithic," where Follin is pulled into the "strong magnetic field" of someone special with a kind of mellow inevitability, there's a sci-fi massiveness to the music that matches Host's emotional stakes. It's no coincidence that Follin's growing role in Cults' music led to some of their most unguarded songwriting. She's never sounded tougher or more present than on "Spit You Out," a triumphantly spacy epic that contains an album's worth of moods. Follin is just as winningly assertive on "Honest Love," which boasts processed backing vocals that make it sound like she's gained superpowers when she demands what she needs on the chorus. Cults deftly contrast this newfound strength with the vulnerability at which they've always excelled, whether on the playfully self-pitying "A Low" or the endearing "No Risk," a moment of confession with a tumbling melody and shuffling beat. While the album's huge sound sometimes threatens to overpower its actual songs, it's clear that Follin and Oblivion had a breakthrough while making it. Musically dense and emotionally candid, the risks Cults take on Host make it a grower that embellishes on their strengths with flair.