Like a garage-pop version of Woody Guthrie, The Paranoyds critically examine America's ugly history, shady present and uncertain future on the four-piece band's third album. And horror has never sounded cuter. "Nihilism bobbleheads, misogynists but working on it/ American means shaking hands and stealing land … Consumerism is facial recognition/ They tried to sell me back my appearance" go the lyrics of "Single Origin Experience," a peppy bounce-along powered by pogo drums and carousel organ. Singer-guitarist Lexi Funston has said of the song: "Companies spying on us and 'green-washing' their products in hopes of selling as a 'pure' life, a branded experience. What the f, right? Does single origin coffee really taste any better?" Meanwhile, "LA 2032" is pure musical ebullience but also about the very real futuristic threats of the Golden State—wildfires, earthquakes, rising temperatures and a predicted "superstorm"—that could wipe out the whole sunny place. "I'm so afraid of living in LA in 2032," sings Funston, forecasting "the stars are gone," which could be about the smogged-out sky or Hollywood, before admitting, "But I just love this stupid place." "Lizzie" rides a wave of Waitresses-like early '80s catchiness and hints at both retrofuturism and the suspended disbelief needed for religious faith. "Cosmically I don't believe in sights that remain unseen/ Unfounded memories from 1950/ Panhandling fantasies of a higher being." (Funston has publicly said it's about a "down to earth" actress crush who is also "completely bound to a religion with foundations that are essentially a science fiction novel.") Signed to Jack White's Third Man label, the Los Angelenos also open time capsules from various decades beyond the '80s. There are fun '90s references on "Nissan Overdrive"—with its slacker guitar riffs—and "Typing," which boasts multi-layered shoegaze vocals that stretch and blur like an oil-rainbow effect. "Freak Out" dabbles in X-style punk, using droll Exene attitude and jump-around modulation to convey drama. With sunny guitar interplay, brooding bass and a drill-team chant, "Andrew" feels Dum Dum Girls-esque. It all marches out with "Sunburn": completely ominous riffs, bottom-heavy sludge and stomp, searing guitar solos and a headbanger of a bridge. The vocals ooze, singing "I want a thousand days of sun … molten asphalt stuck my feet," until it sounds like both a sweet promise and a doomsday threat. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz