The Montreal quartet's third full-length finds them returning to the forebodingly dissonant fretwork and murky electronic textures that made their 2010 debut such a powerful statement of modern art rock. We're talking music that's cold, dark and barren like a desolate alien landscape. The challenging, yet utterly compelling set opens with "Fall," a dystopian grinder shot through with seething feedback and crunchy wallop. Suuns sound like cyborgs throwing violent temper tantrums. "Resistance" actually manages to ratchet up the alienated vibes: synth-generated sine waves tear across a rigidly metronomic pulse, while singer Ben Shemie chants “resist” over and over in a narcotized croak that makes you think resistance is, ultimately, futile. This penetrating sense of fatalism pops up time and time again, from “Brainwashed” to “Nobody Can Save Me Now.” It grows into something downright suffocating on “Paralyzer,” a writhing meditation on abject isolation.