Animal Collective, “Time Skiffs.”

There comes a time in many aging bands’ careers when they start talking guff about maturity, hard-earned wisdom and so on. The release copy for the latest LP from Animal Collective, Time Skiffs, gestures toward this convention by describing the album as “the collected transmissions of four people who have grown into relationships and parenthood and adult worry.” However, the copy adds that those transmissions “are rendered with Animal Collective’s singular sense of exploratory wonder, same as they ever were.”

This is only fitting; who listens to Animal Collective for maturity or hard-earned wisdom? Nonetheless, Time Skiffs does indeed have a certain autumnal feel thanks to the mellow mood that permeates the album. Avey Tare, Panda Bear, et al. don’t seem to feel the need to bum-rush their audience’s earholes like they did in the days of Meriweather Post Pavilion and Centipede Hz. The songs’ tempos are more relaxed and the production airier. The vocals sometimes sound as if they could float off into the ether at any moment.

To the group’s detractors, all of this may sound like one more step toward the neo-New-Age aural wallpaper that they consider the band’s destiny. To be sure, Time Skiffs doesn’t have anything as immediately striking as the ambiently anthemic “My Girls” or the sublimely goofy “FloriDada.” Still, the album’s pleasant tunes, quirky textures and smooth grooves help its 47 minutes go by easily enough.

Time Skiffs starts with “Dragon Slayer.” That title conjures up images of fireballs and muscular dudes wielding broadswords. However, when the music plays, listeners may think more of a walk along the Pacific Coast on those lovely mornings when mist rolls in and covers everything. Keyboards bubble and sparkle like gentle springs. Gauzy layers of voices murmur about opening up to see or be something or another as steady drumming gently urges the song forward.

The second song, “Car Keys,” opens with the sound of metallic tapping and scraping. It could be the start of some obscure religious ritual or the sound of a suburbanite puttering in their garage. This is followed by more steady drumming and some swirling, squiggly synthesizers. “How will we do it now?” a voice asks on the chorus, “How are we gonna know?” Judging from the quietude of the hazy background vocals, the answers to these questions aren’t especially urgent.

“Prester John” anchors its ethereal harmonies and glittering synthesizers with a discretely funky beat. When the collective’s voices murmur about the title character’s heart breaking down and “treating every day as an image of a moment that’s passed,” the song has some of the wistful beauty of early Tennyson (“Mariana,” “The Lotos-eaters,” like that).

Burbles, rustles, clatters and stray tune fragments provide a bridge to the next song, “Strung with Everything.” Here, sprightly drumming and cooing synthesizers blend with misty vocals, which urge listeners to ditch their electronics and the rat race and embrace nature. That’s what lyrics like “Dislike the silicone heads” and “The sun’s no better off lately/ The sun’s no better off now” seem to say, anyway. Cynics might find this far too twee and hippie-come-lately for their tastes, but the song still has a golly-gee charm.

Up next is “Walker,” a sweet, lilting tribute to the late cult singer-songwriter Scott Walker. However one might feel about Walker’s oeuvre, this song’s winsome tune, soothing drone and rattling xylophones show that listening to him definitely did Animal Collective some good. On “Cherokee,” the band coos cryptically about Tom Hanks and pocketsful of roofies and teeth over a jazzy shuffle as synths swirl and whoosh around them.

The somber vocals and moaning, whirring keyboards on “Passer-by” get nudged from their torpor by some lissome drumming. “We Go Back” picks up the pace with some playful syncopation until the outro, when the reverb-drenched singer moans gently about feeling lonely at sunset as synths ribbit and burp around him.

The album’s closer, “Royal and Desire,” gives the listener a soothing farewell. The beat swings gently as chiming, shimmering guitars and keyboards evoke starlit night skies. It’s not clear what the band’s singing about, but the melody’s so dreamy that, like Keats’ “Grecian Urn,” it carries all the meaning you might need.

Follow reporter Ben Schultz at Instagram.com/benjamin.schultz1.