Punctuation is so phallic–all balls, rods, dangles. And Of Montreal’s ninth full-length is heavily punctuated, erected through tonal questions, exclamations, and commas. These digitally grafted 15 tracks open with a salvo schizoid with percussive moxie and choral phlegm. It throws a gauntlet–conform to nonconformity–but for oversexed funk the juice is worth the squeeze. Past the initial zippers, clasps, and folds come fleshy, falsetto protrusions–direct and ambiguous and coital. This Afro-prog strawberry burn is stippled with batucada ellipses and disco-bass clauses, the Plastic Ono Band’s unflinchingly primal transients and house music’s plinky piano U4IA. Toning down vexations to glaze pop with pop shots, Kevin Barnes has impregnated his androgynous sentimentality with increased potency.