In an alternate timeline of the alternative nation, the emergence and ultimate disintegration of Chicago’s Cap’n Jazz would be watershed moments on the level of Nirvana’s Nevermind. Instead, knowledge of the band is a cool thing among record nerds. Coming along at the tail end of the first wave of emo, but breaking up right before the second wave proper kicked in, the band was a cult favorite also highly regarded for the bands that spun-off after. While there were quite a few one-offs and side projects, the most notable ones have been Owen, Make Believe, the Promise Ring and Joan of Arc. The other band of note is Owls, led by Capn’n Jazz’s lead singer Tim Kinsella and joined by fellow Cap’n Jazz members drummer Mike Kinsella (Tim’s brother), bassist Sam Zurick, and guitarist Victor Villareal. The band managed to release one self-titled album in 2001 before calling it quits after a year of operation. Now, the band is back with the appropriately titled Two (Polyvinyl Records).

There’s been so much music cranked out by the Cap’n Jazz alumni, it’s not surprising that the Owls reunion doesn’t have the same emotional resonance of those of other bands. Regardless, it makes sense to revive Owls, as it has far less baggage than Cap’n Jazz, and thus Two could be whatever they wanted it to be. The result is a great amalgamation of all the band members’ past work with a nod to their current growth. Two succeeds because it seems like the continuation of a conversation rather than an attempt to revive something. That feeling is strongest on the opening track “Four Works Of Art,” which seems to skip an opening verse to jump into the middle of an instrumental passage before finally bringing the vocals in. It’s like joining a story already in progress.

The other noticeable thing is that the band still sounds like itself. It may seem like an absurd point to highlight, but over the past nearly 20 years, there’s a distinct jazz-like, mathematical, intricate style of playing they’ve developed that’s quite out of fashion these days. The shifting stutter-step drums, the fluctuating dynamics and time signatures, the seemingly random tangents that Villareal’s guitar parts seem to go on—you can see the parallels in all of the combined body of work. They might have streamlined the proceedings and gone a more straightforward route, but it’s almost like they couldn’t even if that’s what they wanted to do.

Still, in its own way, Two is kind of a poppy record (with the stress on “kind of”), if you don’t mind fairly obtuse lyrics with the occasional head-slapping pun. What does, “I watched hornets slaughter honey bees,” mean? That line from “The Lion” is probably not meant to be taken literally, but damned if it’s not an earworm. Throughout the record, even songs that seem fairly straightforward manage to throw a curveball. It’s a neat little trick of hiding in plain sight, being approachable, but standoffish, and Two is all the better for it. If historical precedent is any indication, Owls may not make it to Three anytime soon, but Two is plenty to enjoy in the meantime.