Liturgy’s first release in four years, The Ark Work (Thrill Jockey Records), is a profoundly discomfiting record, but one that never hits the levels of profundity it seeks. Opening with “Fanfare,” a burst of drumless synthesized brass that stutters, overlaps, and overflows until it cracks, the sound world for the album is established before most of the band even plays a note.

As song titles like “Kel Valhalla,” “Total War,” and “Queztalcoatl” indicate, this is a record preoccupied with apocalypse, and the overall sonic aesthetic revels in the malleable and artificial. On “Quetzalcoatl,” the lyrics are half-rapped in an affectless whine by Hunter Hunt-Hendrix, alternately crying out to the feathered serpent of its title (getting a lot of rhythmic and rhyming juice out of that word) and slipping into a cracking-open of the world, all over an infectious web of minimal synth and bubbling guitar. By the time the song rolls to an explosive catharsis—with strings, heart-attack drumming by Greg Fox, and taut guitar from Bernard Gann—it is undeniably excited. It’s one of a handful of high, high points on a record that tries to confound expectations of this kind of fist-pumping enthusiasm.

“Reign Array” is the standout track on the record, opening with what sounds like an echoing, synthesized hurdy gurdy, then exploding with stuttering guitar and thick drum and bass (played beautifully by Tyler Dusenbury) over a growl from Hunt-Hendrix that doesn’t have the power of his earlier gravel, but feels fresh and energized as he dips back into Liturgy’s earlier mix of Gregorian chant and modernist, minimal choir writing. But even with these harder rock signifiers, the forefront of the track is prayer bells, a high pitched chiming that spatters the song like paint or rain. The handful of lyrics that can be made out are mostly repeated mantras or syllabic vocalese, but the lack of literal meaning isn’t missed when the track so thoroughly scours the listener’s brain. By the time those synthesized horns return, it feels like a conquering army, like the plastic veneer of the world is breaking open.

The experiments further away from Liturgy’s stock of brainy, brawny rock are a mixed bag, and the scale too often tips to the weak and dull. “Follow II” is mostly successful, with its creeping, deliberate organ and treble-rich guitar swinging between cracked electronica and orchestral sections of keyboard, strings, and drums. But “Haelegen” feels like a pompous ’70s organ cliche not improved with the additional decay, and “Father Vorizen” and “Kel Valhaal” are attempts at fractured arena rock only partially interesting thanks to their textures. The nadir is “Vitriol,” using the same chanting backdrop as “Reign Array” and a thumping kick drum, with a more rap-heavy delivery and nonsense lyrics telling the story of a woefully misunderstood sad sack: “I turn your ashes to gold. You repay me with vitriol.”

There are fascinating ideas in The Ark Work, and some playing that will leave the listener breathless. But the moments where everything coalesces get swallowed up by the good try, the valiant effort, and the sketch.