Are Jonathan Rado and Sam France two irreverent hipsters bullshitting their way through the annals of pop-rock history on their record company’s dime? Or are they gleeful sonic voyagers with a flair for the eccentric? With Hang, their absurdly over-the-top third album, the answer seems to be both. Last time out, they stitched together an double-LP of stoned genre work-outs, loosely centered around a fictional band. But that mess sounds tidy compared to Hang: Utilizing every squeak and squelch of a ramshackle 40-piece orchestra, the duo indulge in swing (“Avalon”), cornball soft-rock (“Follow the Leader”), smooth-jazz guitar solos, and what can only be described as “lounge-prog” (“America”), calling to mind everyone from David Bowie to SMiLE-era Brian Wilson to a coked-out Poco to your favorite cruise ship piano player. France croons every surreal lyric in his standard son-of-Jagger mode, adopting an obnoxiously wide vibrato. Meanwhile, the overstuffed arrangements bubble with sonic surprises: chipmunk backing vocals, xylophones, circus organs, harpsichords, violins and probably the most goddamn tuba ever employed on a rock album. But then again, maybe Foxygen have abandoned “rock” altogether with Hang—quite an accomplishment, even if you’re annoyed by their brand of madness. Where will they go from here: A black-metal album? A country-rap single? Nobody knows, and that’s half the fun.