Boasting a small army of musicians and a more velvety studio sheen, Stuart McLamb's third outing under the Love Language moniker finds the Raleigh, North Carolina-based indie rocker offering up a cacophonous set of psych-tinged, shoegaze-kissed, Spector-esque Appalachian garage jams that, according to their author, "were scrawled with lungs full of mountain air, colored with spilled wine, and seasoned with the drawbars of a thrift store organ and tape echo." It's an apt description, as the Merge-issued ten-track Ruby Red feels like it was built on a foundation of half-formed ideas that spontaneously (and explosively) evolved into fully functioning mini-epics during the recording process, resulting in something akin to a more focused GBV or a less strung-out Spiritualized.

Festooned with hooks galore, heavier cuts like the propulsive opener "Calm Down," its bouncy twin sister "Kids," the lustrous "Faithbreaker," and the sultry and sanguine "First Shot" succeed not just through the simple science of volume, but because they take to their pummeling with such joie de vivre.

Not content to cater only to the nosebleed section, McLamb and company fill the rest of Ruby Red with the kind of quirky, gossamer pop that should appeal to Merge loyalists, and while less immediate offerings like the dreamy "Golden Age," the languid and moody "Knots," and the tastefully ornate chamber pop closer "Pilot Light" may require a couple of extra spins before they begin to reveal their considerable charms, it hardly feels like a chore to do so.