While I’m generally very cautious with my record budget, every once in a while I take a gamble. One of the best gambles I’ve ever taken was a five-record mystery pack from Top Shelf Records for $25.

As far as gambles go, that that was a home run. But perhaps the best thing that came out of it was this record from emo punk/indie rockers Mock Orange. Despite releasing their first record in 1995 (and being fellow Hoosiers), I was wholly unfamiliar with Mock Orange when I received this, their ninth record in my mystery pack. And upon the first few listens, it felt utterly unknowable. In fact, while I usually just put on a record and write the post while it plays, I’ve listened to this album at least four times in the last two days, and I’m not sure I’m any closer to having a handle on it.

There are still traces of their emo roots scattered across the tracklist, found most reliably in Ryan Grisham, whose weary, wavering voice reminds me a bit of the Davey von Bohlen of the Promise Ring. But that’s just one ingredient in this musical cocktail. There are also hints of Wilco, Spoon, and T.Rex—you see what I mean by unknowable?

“I’m Leaving” kicks off the record with a lazy glam rock stomp and fuzzed-to-hell electric guitar, while Grisham’s voice wafts underneath. “High Octane Punk Mode“—perhaps one of the most mistitled songs ever—relaxes a bit with a crisp beat, pulsing synths, and angular guitar lines. “Nine Times” grooves with the funk of Cake by way of the Beatles. “Window” puts Grisham’s lighter-than-air voice to a muscular, anthemic glam riff.

And that’s just the first four tracks.

While there are common threads throughout the record, those elements are twisted and morphed into different shapes for each track. It is chameleonic and mercurial, yet oddly cohesive. These tracks all feel very different from eachother, but they all sound like the same band on the same record (for more reference, put the mourning, ambient ballad “Some Say” next to the crashing, riffy swagger of “Chrome Alligator,” which appear net to eachother on the record). Their sonic palette contains a limited number of colors, but they use them to great effect.

And beyond that, this record is like, super good. Every track sounds like a highlight—so much so that it’s almost impossible to pull out tracks as examples (you should definitely listen to “Too Good Your Dreams Don’t Come True,” which sounds a bit like the lovechild of The Beatles and Spoon). After twenty years as a band together, they are fluent with one another, playing off of eachother with a synchronization that few bands ever achieve. And that sync never wavers, whether they’re playing anthemic glam rock, riffy alt rock, or atmospheric ballads. They are masters of their craft, and Put the Kid on the Sleepy Horse is a masterpiece.

Now if you’ll need me, I’ll be trying to decipher the rest of their discography.