Heartworms

This dynamic is the engine that powers Heartworms, with subject matter frequently much heavier than the psychedelia-tinged pop its bathed in.

Heartworms is an understated and charming production of orchestral rock, surfy riffs cresting summery melodies and experimental streaks of reverb.

Though it takes a few listens to get to the heart of Heartworms, fans who have stuck with Mercer for this long will find it time well spent.

Although the core songwriting is never quite as captivating and merciful as it was on previous albums, Heartworms nonetheless has an adventurous outer shell, and the Shins seem to revel in the newfound space inside of it.

While Heartworms has its melodic pop moments and the band tries to remain indie-rock stalwarts, there seems to be a lack of cohesiveness between the songs. But one thing that remains strong is Mercer's ability to craft songs that are always interesting, otherworldly, and transport you to another universe.

The Shins are normally focused on the future, but Heartworms, their first album in five years and fifth since 2001, takes a small step into the past.

There are so many ideas in Heartworms that give substance to Mercer’s unremitting passion to create, and though he manages to enliven and push the project forward it more so blurs Mercer’s artistic and commercial ambitions.

When Heartworms misses, it misses small and that can be even more disappointing than missing big. This album is just a few puzzle pieces shy of being great, and that’s a damn shame.

Heartworms is an album of tinkering and pootling, the sound of a man reminiscing on life, referencing his favourite records – less rock star, more bloke living out his hobby from the comfort of a suburban garage.

Throughout Heartworms, Mercer ruminates on aging by contrasting his present with his past.

It’s a shame that ambition seems to have gone missing.

Melodies do abound here aplenty. But what makes Heartworms so maddening is how eagerly it buries them under a landfill of aural waste.

Special effects and studiously flamboyant vocals result in surrealist, cartoon pop that’s stuck in the adolescent.

As the elder statesman of indie pop, James Mercer has earned his right to wiggle his toes in previously undisturbed waters, but too often on Heartworms he sounds less like a genius gracefully growing old and more like Wayne Coyne in full mid-life crisis mode.

Heartworms has some songs that longtime Shins fans will appreciate, and they should seek out those songs. But in the age of unlimited audio streaming, it is hard to make a case that the entire album is worth their time.

Aimless and fussy, Heartworms sounds like the kind of album a person with slightly too much money, their own studio and a massive ego would make. Crushingly disappointing, this is, alas, no return to form.