In the video for the stressful “Sekwar,” Angus Andrew, the man behind Liars, appears to be on an esoteric mushroom mission. Looking like a crazed backwoodsman turned astro-spelunker, he stalks the gloom solo in a Martian sewer, fruitlessly casting a searchlight. On record, the song is both the lead single and segue between two stark messages. “You say you’re always right,” he pleas at the climactic midpoint. Yet what he seeks likewise fails to materialize, and only a fascination perseveres. Still his determination is clear. The condition is mad pursuit, he seems to say, and faint hope dangles like a silvery rope from a proximal moon.

Liars remain the connoisseur’s choice from New York’s new new wave scene. The Apple Drop marks Liars’ third record without Aaron Hemphill and Julian Gross, following TFCF, and its rewardingly experimental companion, Titles With The Word Fountain. (For a sampling of their indie cred, check out the remix bonus disc of Sisterworld). A strong case can be made that these are not true Liars albums, but Angus Andrew solo albums. An art school graduate and musical concept master, Andrew took psilocybin for The Apple Drop to help reprogram his neural pathways and combat crippling anxiety.

“It wasn’t until working on The Apple Drop that I discovered the unique ability of psilocybin to disrupt the normal communication networks in the brain,” Andrew said in a press release. What this translates to in the grooves of the lean, 43-minute record is a lot of static and receding transmissions, but also some decisive insights.

Vocals admonish with Sonic-Youth-like assuredness on “Slow And Turn Inward.” “All these suns devour us,” Andrew sings, acknowledging the wearing march of days. Andrew embraces the challenge: “Take my arms, let’s go there.” The contract is secured. A hypnotic chanting refrain locates the listener hiply within the horror, as the modern gives way to the degenerative.

Strong, sunny hooks anchor key tracks “Big Appetite” and “Acid Crop.” Artistically Liars strengthen their case as an American counterpart to Radiohead, using appropriately warlike, contrarian soundmaps. Their catalog of oddly removed aesthetic, and Andrew’s layered vocals, place Liars in a baroque category.

A warrior spirit takes hold on “From What The Never Was.” “They faced us again,” the ineffably menacing Andrew lilts. “I fought them with whiskers that never had grown in ’til then, I raged.” A pupil of composition, the speaker justifies fighting for it, defending indie grit for one more day.

Andrew does also show a tendency to indulge. “Star Search” is a bit of a stretch, raggy falsetto grating, and “King Of The Crooks” semi-launches from a bloodless major seventh theme. TFCF emerged in 2017 strangely sterile, strangulated among Devo and Guided By Voices. The good news is that Andrew seems more focused and song- and theme-oriented here. But his extreme introspection is not quite as interesting as his projections as bandleader.

In an earlier era, Liars’ sound coalesced around clinical minimalism. Precision interplay of cold soundbites made effective rhythmic use of negative space, which lent their songs a uniquely unstable texture. Some of these compelling left-field elements are missing on The Apple Drop. Though Andrew uses sparse instrumentation, he saturates the sonic spectrum for a mostly linear listening experience.

Enduring Liars fans may note a lack of major hooks, no “Plaster Casts” or “Mess On A Mission.” Though Andrew makes ample use of his spooky falsetto and slurred moan, the songs are again slow-paced and the mix is bass-heavy. Even attack songs like “My Pulse To Ponder” get dragged down in the pharmaceutical sludge. The tune never quite winches its way out of the murk.

Deep cut “Leisure War” begins with a morphing, attention-getting synth tangent. “Leisure War” samples effectively from 1980s corporate synth-rock, sounding like a Peter Gabriel hit that was warped by psychosis into something nearly unrecognizable. A somewhat sci-fi vibe persists throughout the alienating track list. The fortuitous result of a session, Liars persist with introspective chamber music for the digital age.

The Apple Drop is an improvement on TFCF and does well in its own little corner of the universe. Its deeper message gets buried somewhat in the thick mix. Hooks and lyrics don’t reach out and grab you like classic Liars derangements. Still, the album benefits from its focus. Spacy, foreboding musical themes feed some fine atmospheric playing.