As much as I’ve looked forward to this section of my collection, I’m sitting here with “January 1979” blaring at a complete loss of what to say about this record.

Do I talk about the broad scope of Aaron’s lyrics as he dissects theology, philosophy, and his own mental state in a yelping shout? Do I talk about how the rest of the band broke the doors off of punk music to create some of the greatest soundscapes put to tape? Do I talk about how over the last fourteen years, no record has meant more to me?

Because this record is all that and more. And if I didn’t have work to do today, I could write about this record all day.

After the blistering, passionate fury of [A–>B] Life, Catch For Us the Foxes might seem a little underwhelming at first. There are fewer molten riffs and Aaron’s voice is less shouted—he even sings on a couple songs! The songs don’t flow into one another as they did on the debut full-length.

But what the record lacks in punk fury, it makes up in maturity—both lyrically and musically.

Aaron’s lyrics are just as masterfully worked and reference-dense as before, but they’re a bit broader here. [A–>B]‘s lyrics were peerless, but the record had a singular focus: the end of his relationship with the oft-mentioned Amanda (the got back together before Foxes, then broke up again, but more on that tomorrow).

Foxes , on the other hand, is much broader. Between the records, Aaron spent a lot of time with a Christian commune called Bruderhof, which challenged his idea of the faith significantly. He turns the lens on himself and examines his own vanity. On “January 1979” he admits that he’s “grown comfortably numb indulging in the pleasures of the wealthy.” On “Seven Sisters” he dives deep into his own existentialism: “I threw a small stone down into the image of myself in the water, and it altogether disappeared. I burst as it shattered through me like a bullet through a bottle. And I’m expected to believe that any of this is real?”

In the face of his own shortcomings, he looks to a God too big to know completely. As a Sufi-born Christian, his worldview is a bit broader than most of us, but even he sees the wonders of the Divine as too vast to capture completely—a still, quiet presence that works in all things, but is always slightly beyond our understanding. On “My Exit Unfair,” he cries out, “what unseen pen etched eternal things on the hearts of humankind, but never let them in our mind?”

Yet in spite of this unknowability, he bids us enter into community with this Divine presence and with one another. On “Torches Together” he asks, “why burn so poor and lonely?” On “Four Word Letter (pt. 2)” he invites the doubters, pretenders, and Amanda to “come down to the river to pray” and shouts out, “we have our beliefs, but we don’t want our beliefs. God of peace, we want you.”

There are even a couple love songs—not that they’re filled with any sort of conventional imagery. “Paper Hanger” describes his beloved as “wine turned to water and turned back to wine.” Closer “Son of a Widow” (which is entirely sung rather than shouted) says, “pay not attention to me dancing with my girl. We’ve every intention to be failures in this world.” It ends the record with a similar plea as “Torches Together:” “Grape on the vine, why not be crushed to make wine?”

And that’s just the lyrics. The instrumentation on the record merits just as much dissection.

Guitarists Mike Weiss (again, Aaron’s brother) and Chris Kleinberg completely abandon the drop D riffing that informed their early EPs.While there’s still plenty of punk energy here, there are no punk conventions. Instead, they expand on the vibing, ambient style that had popped up on some of the quieter moments on [A–>B] Life. Their intricately intertwining guitar lines are run through numerous effects pedals, creating a spacious atmosphere where the songs exist.

Under this atmosphere, Daniel Pishock (in his last appearance with the group) lays some of the smoothest basslines of all time. And with Mike and Chris riffing about in ambience, the bass often carries the structure of the song. He injects influence from hip hop and dub reggae, which is one of the reasons the record feels as fresh as it does.

And then there’s Rickie Mazzotta. Few drummers are as inventive and energetic as Rickie. His angular grooves and frenetic chops are the backbone of the group. While the rest of the group is off noodling, his frantic pounding keeps the band rooted. Even through chiller tracks like “Carousels,” he pounds the skins with a fierce tenacity.

It’s been fourteen years since this record came out, and it was almost immediately a favorite of mine. It stayed lodged in my car stereo. I rushed out to purchase the vinyl pressing as soon as it came out (and good thing too, because vinyl copies now sell for over $100). I have listened to this album hundreds—maybe even thousands—of times. And every time I listen to it, it unfolds to show me something new. It is maybe my favorite record of all time—and that’s not a phrase I throw around lightly. But my appreciation is not based on sentimentality. This is a truly special record. The definitive work by one of the most fiercely individualistic groups of all time.