This morning I left the house at around twenty past seven. It was cool and a high belt of fog was melting above my neighborhood. I walked north and queued up the new Spoon record on my iPod. Yeah, it’s not out yet. Shhhh.

As I walked through the park, avoiding the jets from the sprinklers, I listened to the whole thing, start to stop, in order. First impression was “good”, which means it will only get better and better.

It sounded polished, production-wise, but as usual, they left in a whole world of ambient sound — voices chattering after the instruments have stopped, little pops from equipment being plugged in, squeaking chairs, other things that other bands erase from the mix. I don’t know that there is any real moments of total silence on this record.

The music itself is heavy, melodic, and tight. What you expect. The lyrics are clever and inscrutable, as always. The songs are shorter than on the last record — nine of the ten clock in under four minutes. I like their brevity. There is a little experimentation, there is a lot of rock and roll.

And what is it “about”? Who knows. As with all Spoon records, that’s a dumb question with no answer. You can find meaning in the words, but it will be your own meaning, your own interpretation through your own filter. Britt Daniel has stated that he hates being asked about what his songs “mean,” and if you listen long enough, you can see why. Just enjoy them for what they are, for their sound, or for the feeling they give you, even if it means nothing at all.

Upon first listen, sometimes the moment will imprint itself on the song, so that whenever I listen to it thereafter, I will be able to remember where I was, what I was doing the first time I heard it. So for this record, those memories will be of wild water birds, clumps of yellow pollen hanging from evergreen trees, thickets of purple flowers, and the still green lake. I wanted it that way; it’s by design that I saved this first listen for my morning walk.