Vancouver’s six-piece, art-rock outfit, Computer, channel that below-ground, U.K., jazz-punk energy that gives you the kind of anxiety required for a cathartic release after a crippling and emotional bender. The group weaponizes saxophone, chainsaw guitar trills, unhinged drum fills, chaos-strutting bass, and vocals from Hudson Schelesny that combine sorrow, pain, and deliberate, chimerical shouts. Station On The Hill isn’t only high-octane disarray, however. Moments of short brevity with “I’ll Follow” and intro of “The Picture,” lull you into a calming serenity, but secretly prepare you for another punishing bombardment. 

At its core, Station On The Hill feels like stepping into a house full of impossible space—the walls and hallways, or songs, never follow the conventional structure you’re expecting, and just when you think you know where the album is turning, a labyrinth of sound plunges from the rafters, waiting for another form of dimensional influence. A prime example of this is the wailing saxophone on “Weird New Vacation” that sounds like it’s fleeing a burning building. All of this is to guide you to the mammoth-timed album closer, which is essentially three young songs disguised as an adult in a torn-up overcoat. It sounds surreal, and that’s ‘cause it is.

— Read our November cover story with Computer —