Next week, Brooklyn folk-rock psychonauts Woods will drop their sixth album in as many years, further evidence that despite the intense frequency of their releases — or perhaps because of it — the Jeremy Earl-led trio continues to evolve considerably between outings. While 2011's Sun and Shade was lo-fi and idiosyncratic, this latest set feels fleshed out, pared down, then built back up. The production is crisp. Earl's voice is never buried. The instruments are given space to breathe. The result is a more deeply emotive Woods. The album's titular opener allows you to feel the shape of the room, and "Lily" is lovely with its high harmonies and tape-damaged texture. Lyrically, dark themes abound (crushing weakness, how "fucking hard" it is to see sometimes, the transience of all things), but all of that doom and gloom is couched in the sort of beauty Woods have made their own. It might be our favorite Woods record to date.