"Don't be afraid of the language, I know you don't mean what you say," sings Clem Snide frontman Eef Barzelay in his distinctive brittle whine. Clearly, Barzelay is fascinated by double meanings and odd juxtapositions. His songs ruminate over sleeping in ashtrays, Elvis's long lost twin, and eating anger with mustard and wine; his personal memories twist pop culture like a pretzel, producing titles like "Joan Jett of Arc" (about his first love) and "Ancient Chinese Secret Blues" (a sleepy dirge that ends with Barzelay imploring "Calgon, take me away"). Yet Barzelay's examinations of love and happiness hit you more like mysterious and curious runes than murky hipster rants thanks to a certain wide-eyed perspective and the band's expertly textured music, which makes effective use of grand, soulful horns and subtle strings, plus various other instrumental touches. The hushed laments, bouncing rave-ups, and witty shuffles on the Brooklyn band's third album are unique and well crafted, setting Clem Snide apart from the "downtwang" scene.