Unicorns, rainbows and blankets of butterflies flying in chromatic symmetry across glittery, snow-capped Claymation backdrops prefigure the mystic secrets contained on this evolutionary leap of a record. This is the part where I’m supposed to make my easily digestible pop references: like an acid-fueled Prince jamming with Radiohead produced by “Timbaland” or “Spiritualized getting jiggy with Giorgio Moroder down at your local Freemasons lodge.” But all those belittling banalities would seem so meaningless by the time you made it through the album’s mind-expanding finale, proudly proclaiming, “Oh, Fantastica.”