Palehound’s Dry Food (Exploding in Sound) is a charming, low-key record that belies real surprises and resonating stories of turmoil and trauma. It uses the detritus of ‘90s indie rock, and through careful sculpting and scraping, not to mention some of the finest guitar being played in indie rock circles, makes those forms sound gorgeously new and real.

Leader Ellen Kempner’s gripping songs hesitate to give up their mystery. Her guitar, ably abetted by Ben Scherer’s second guitar and backing vocals, is the most striking sound element on Dry Food. On “Molly,” the opening track, she uses hard strumming, distorted almost to the breaking point, between rays of silky slide twang to slap your face. On “Healthier Folks,” the guitars build and then lurch ominously, pulled back by the solid drumming of Max Kupperberg as Kempner’s laconic vocal tells the story of someone caught in stasis, desperate to break free but in the throes of something not quite done yet. It is a glimpse of people desiring to be loved and to be the objects of desire, underpinned with an ominous undertow of droning bass courtesy of Thom Lombardi.

On “Easy,” Kempner’s voice tumbles ahead of the beat, and as it hangs over the cliff, the guitars and drums come in behind her, catching her just in time in one of the most thrilling moments of the record. She lays out a digressive argument that almost feels bored, like she she’s said the lines over and over again: “You say you’re never afraid ‘cause you get off easy. But I tried on your shoes, they made me bleed.” That sedated uneasiness continues on “Cinnamon,” full of sunshine-blurred bounce and jangle that bursts into tense fireworks on the chorus, an inversion of the classic Pixies dynamic flipped around the tempo axis while keeping an easy volume. The title track is a country-tinged waltz that calls to mind the Silver Jews, with acoustic guitar and an aggressive, driving drum line with hi-hat that sounds like static’s literally bursting off it augmented by organ and piano and even a mournful harmonica. On Kempner’s knife-twisting mot juste, wherein she sings,“You made beauty a monster to me, so I’m kissing all the ugly things I see,” the reverb drops away and it feels like her voice charges the center of the soundfield, filling it and making the listener unable to look away from the cracks and rough edges.

The key track in the home stretch of Dry Food is “Cushioned Caging,” as close to anthemic as this record gets, with big, twinned guitars, fuzz bass, and hard drums replete with cymbals that slice like daggers. Even in this moment of real catharsis, the breakthrough is ameliorated by lyrics like, “All I ever knew was cushioned caging,” and “I knew you were a close call. I love you, it’s all my fault.” Dry Food is about the seeking of the comfort and growth that only comes from denying that ease. It’s about the pain of revelation and about those moments of clarity and how fleeting they can be.