A muffled cavernous melody opens the first seconds of “It’s Probably Not Your Fault,” appearing from nothing and gradually revealing itself as the song bursts open, spearheaded by guitarist Dan Parlin’s urgent cries. The nervous, desperate emotion of the verses gives way to the gorgeous release of the chorus. A haunting female voice (Deborah Warfield of Swirlies) joins guitarist Dan Parlin’s by the last movement of the song, which takes several unexpected turns into the dissonant before it ends. The song sets us up for more moments with the same mysterious and jarring qualities that come to define Soccer Mom, released just last week via 100m Records. Soccer Mom have been making cathartic, shoegaze-inflected emotive indie rock since they released their impressive debut 7″ in 2010, followed by 2011’s You Are Not Going to Heaven EP and 2012’s digital single Brides/Canoe, carefully honing their craft little by little. Their self-titled debut LP is a representation of their tireless commitment to innovation and emotion within the confines of a Sonic Youth-y school of rock, and it shines as some of the most thoughtful music coming out of Boston as of late.

“Orejas” contains an infectious guitar lead that rides drummer Justin Kehoe’s bouncy, stuttering rhythm in an uplifting harmony of forms. Guitarist William Scales makes his first tentative appearance as vocalist with a hollowed out, echo-y effect that compliments the dreamy calm of the verses. The verses themselves are punctuated by Kehoe’s nuanced and thoughtful stops and starts, and throughout the record the band seems to constantly be on edge for something to change. There is a world of detail within Soccer Mom and a steadfast intention to challenge and soothe in equal measure. “No One Left” chooses the latter approach in a truly blissful send-up to their shoegaze influences, rolling along in a hypnotic guitar haze, Parlin’s vocals soft and comforting. The tranquil stretch is notable for its earnest simplicity and singular aim. Bassist Danielle Deveau occupies an almost subliminal influence over the busy noise-making, fitting into a pocket similar to Tina Helms of Boston legends Helms, quietly shaping the shifting movements of the song with simple but effective basslines.

The mood of “Dry Mind” is ominous but strangely comforting, perhaps due to Scales’ understated sing-talk offering an eerie calm to the dreamy anxiety of the song. It eventually drifts into a mesmerizing drone midway, shaken up by Kehoe’s restless punctuations. “Hideaway Sands” contains a majestic instrumental section that traverses an almost cinematic scope of emotion, alternating between enigmatic curiosity and razor-sharp violence, and by the end the song itself dramatically slows down and hushes little by little, as if being smothered. Parlin returns on vocals with “Sundown Syndrome,” a song that jumps between a pillowy-light lead melody and dives into more dark and dreamy territory as it goes, highlighted by some particularly beautiful call-and-responses and harmonies courtesy of Warfield. As with several of the tracks on Soccer Mom, the band effortlessly ratchets up the emotion and volume, and just as quickly falls back into a more sedated attack, leaving one mystified in the wake if they weren’t paying enough attention to the changes. Soccer Mom, for better or worse, require one to always be alert, and I usually think of their live shows as ‘workouts’ in the best way possible. When they let you relax a bit and get lost in their soundscapes, it’s like a comforting hug and a whisper in your ear that it’s going to be just fine. “7.15” retracts into an almost mournful introspection, and when it does climax, it’s decidedly muted and lilting. The effected intro of “Open Heart Surgery” features a backwards guitar and a muffled percussive shuffling, and the combination of the title and the instrumentation immediately create a queasy, nervous vibe that only progresses as the song unfolds. Kehoe’s shuffling snare hits are particularly effective over the droney guitars, and eventually the rhythm levels out to a mid-tempo glide, complimented by walls of fuzzed-out guitars that sound like warm synths. The section that follows gives us a wave of bliss to rest in following the thick air of dread we had been immersed in only minutes before. The record ends on this warm, dreamy note as Warfield’s distant mantra of “You don’t seem like yourself” floats above the sound; a peaceful end to the rollercoaster ride of its sprawling compositions.

Soccer Mom is truly a culmination of what this clearly talented group of people have been aiming for since their inception, namely to craft intelligent, gripping, emotional music that speaks to both the mind and heart. Throughout the record, they adequately shake the listener up and just as quickly comfort them — only to throw them back into an emotional storm of guitars and rapid-fire rhythms. Their approach is a reflection of life, an expression of all of the tragedy that lurks around every corner, the pain of reality’s grip, and the blinding ecstasy of releasing oneself to get lost in a sea of sound. Sound is what Soccer Mom revel in, constantly switching up rhythms and textures, never satisfied with hanging on one idea too long; the hallmark of lifelong artists. Life/art is an exploration, and it’s rarely an easy ride. Soccer Mom brilliantly take you along for the ride, whether or not you’re ready for them.