When they released their second album, Odd Blood, in 2010, Yeasayer were on the rise to indie mega-stardom alongside the likes of Grizzly Bear, Beach House, and St. Vincent. But unlike the others, Yeasayer chose to ignore the brass ring and make a left-hand turn. Their debut, All Hour Cymbals, had been unusual, but its pleasures were easy to access. With Odd Blood and 2012’s Fragrant World, their work became more obscure. However, if you weren’t turned away by the hideous album art or the increasingly strange sounds, you were in for a treat. Those albums reward repeat listeners with the unique charm of iconoclasts burying their best songs under layers of gaud. To put it another way, even after you figure out where the hook is in a Yeasayer song, it still feels like a discovery every time.

So it’s no surprise that the most obvious anthem on Amen & Goodbye (Mute Records), the band’s new album is more than a little mangled. “I Am Chemistry” has the propulsive force and simplified structure of a pop hit. You can imagine the record label giving it a thumbs up, and the band thinking, “That’s way too likable.” So they disfigured it with off-putting key changes, queasy robotic voices, an overlong instrumental section, and a children’s choir singing about dangerous medicinal plants. That’s a good indication of how things go for the rest of the album. The musical mood is mostly foreboding, slow, and angry, and the lyrics are dominated by metaphors about getting lost in the woods and watching the sky fall, mixed with Biblical allusions and frequent, barely veiled mentions of regular drug use. There are light touches on occasion (“Silly Me,” “Dead Sea Scrolls”), but those moments are so saccharine they verge on nauseating.

As you get deeper into the track list, the clouds above disappear, and the songs become downright claustrophobic. Detailing sad break-ups and abusive relationships, these are ugly fables in which the necessary escape is as troubling as the pain of sticking around. “There is something there in the darkness,” sings Chris Keating, and you truly hope for a light at the end of the tunnel. Even the real beauty of “Uma,” seemingly an ode to a child, begins and ends with a creepy instrumental turn. “Cold Night,” is almost upbeat, comparatively direct, and feels like someone reaching out, but makes the declaration that “to my daughter you’ll be an ancient memory. If we even mention you at all, It’s too scary.” Indeed, Yeasayer rarely makes it easy, but this time there’s very little joy waiting to be discovered in the scary shadows.