If nothing else, no one can accuse Moving Mountains of putting out the same record over and over again.

Across their three full-lengths, the Purchase, NY outfit visits many of the same sonic touchstones without ever repeating themselves. Their self-titled draws from the same wells of post rock, emo, and indie, but with a marked maturity.

Even though it came out only two years after Waves, this record sounds like it might be a completely different band, not unlike the gap between Waves and Pneuma. In fact, at times it seems the only connective tissue between this record is the reprise of “The Cascade’s” melody toward the end of “Eastern Leaves.” Gregory Dunn’s voice is hushed and deliberate, rarely breaking from a calm whisper—even when the band gets heavier (which it does more rarely here).

There are a few moments of adrenaline, such as the chord crashing “Burn Pile” or the punk-paced “Hudson,” the chorus of which reminds me a bit of the Ataris’ later material (sidenote: why did I sell Welcome the Night? If anyone wants to sell me their copy for not $100, let me know). But for the most part, this record is patient, choosing to show off through composition rather than volume.

“Swingset” sets the mood from the opening bell, jangling with acoustic guitar chords and atmospheric keyboards and lead guitar. “Hands” grooves along with an electric piano riding a prominent drum beat. “Seasonal” is a touch more urgent, a serpentine guitar line weaving around the rest of the band, resisting the urge for a huge chorus until the final moments of the track. “Chords” plays somewhere between folk rock and Coldplay’s Parachutes, punking things up as the song goes on.

Closer “Apsides” burns slow and steady, adding layers of electric guitar and keyboards on top of one another throughout the six-minute running time, avoiding the cathartic explosion that it might tease. Instead, it meditates on a bouncing keyboard line, eventually adding Dunn’s hushed voice before resting on ringing guitar chords.

The restraint makes this record much less immediate than the rest of their discography, but it’s no less rewarding. As I’ve revisited Moving Mountains the last couple weeks, this is perhaps the record that unfolded the most in my repeated listens. It lacks both the youthful passion of Pneuma and the fiery power of Waves, but it more than makes up for it in songwriting and craftsmanship. While each of their albums is great in its own way, Moving Mountains may be the one that I spend the most time with.