They may have one of the worst band names in the history of music, but Cigarettes After Sex have carved out a niche for themselves as purveyors of slowcore and dream pop with great success in the seven years since their debut album. It’s true that it takes some time to adjust to Greg Gonzalez’s sluggish vocal style and the Texas band’s glutinous brand of indie rock, but when it hits at the right moment, there is plenty to enjoy.

Their third album isn’t particularly revelatory or distinct from its predecessors; these are slow-burning songs about romance and heartache. The biggest difference here is that frontman Gonzalez has mined just one particular four-year relationship for inspiration, which runs the gauntlet from Blue Tejano’s desire to Dark Vacay’s heartbreak (“I listen to the last message that you left / Then the voice from the suicide hotline”). Others are simply vignettes from a happier time, as heard on Dreams from Bunker Hill: “‘I think of us moving in to the place on Bunker Hill, I felt so happy there / The time we went for a walk to get wine and candy bars, and it started to rain”). Gonzalez’s stream of consciousness lyrics are well-suited to the album’s pensive, absorbing musical style. Dark Vacay sounds like a song that they’d play on the jukebox at the diner in Twin Peaks. Silver Sable and Baby Blue Movie could be the love child of Beach House and The xx, while the twangy, reverb-heavy guitar and the melancholic thrust of songs like Hot and Ambien Slide contribute to the overall fugue of dejection and regret.

There is a sense at times that Cigarettes After Sex’s undeniably one-note approach to melody and pace wears a little thin in place – this is not the most dynamic album you’ll hear in 2024. Nevertheless, after several listens these songs take on a meditative quality that becomes hypnotic and even enjoyable in places. There’s no doubt that it won’t be an album for everyone – but Gonzalez and bandmates are adopting the “If it ain’t broke ... ” adage.