Like a doppelganger stalking Merriweather Post Pavillion from the shadows, former science teacher Chad Metheny offers organic alt-rock fractals made not of ones and zeroes but real heart, real adventurous experience (he’s spoken in tongues at a Pentecostal church and done mercurial gigs with anarcho-cyclist flash mobs while slumming in L.A.) and real instruments (“Erica western Teleport” kicks off the record with a zither-sounding guitar native to Lindsay Buckingham). This is another encouraging example of honest, pretty, hypnotizing indie rock that doesn’t simply roll with the times but actually deserves to be heard — think Here We Go Magic, Winston Giles and such; even Metheny’s emo-geek voice eventually flowers into something ethereal before your ears by the time you get four or so songs in. You could say it’s like Death Cab’s black-sheep brother, also, Metheny’s concrete-hardened soul trying to find beauty in a post-Goldman Sachs-destroyed world and actually succeeding. A —Eric W. Saeger