Out of the Pennsylvania swamps emerge Black Moth Super Rainbow, the world’s trailblazers of codeine-friendly electro-psych. Panic Blooms , their sixth LP, thrives on the fascinating and singular contradictions of their earlier work: It’s atmospheric yet hooky, purposefully amateurish. Crooning eerily detached choruses through his trademark vocoder, frontman Tobacco continues to create beauty from grime—like fashioning a sculpture from the grossest gunk at a garbage heap. His musings about “Sunset Curses” and “Aerosol Weather” arrive like distant transmissions from a stoned martian—like the recordings from the barely intact black box of a wrecked spacecraft. The production is profoundly nasty, as if Black Moth recorded the album 30 years ago on a half-decayed cassette, buried it in a field, dug it up and released it without cleaning it off. The title track is a chillwave-ish haze, interrupted with comical electro debris that clogs your headphones like hair in your bathroom sink. “Bad Fuckin Times” takes the same tact, with Tobacco’s reveries interrupted by bouts of noxious noise— but somehow it feels downright sexy , a sort of dirt-chic. It’s fun to imagine what these songs could sound like in a more “normal” context: The album’s melodic centerpiece, “Backwash,” could be a futuristic R&B slow jam if only Childish Gambino had gotten his hands on the beat. All in all, Panic Blooms is more of the same—but when no one else can even remotely imitate your “same,” why even try different?