Gotta say that I’m loving the new album from Bottlecap Mountain. Due October 10 on all streaming services, it’s called Everest, and it’s the perfect blend of urgency and meticulous craftsmanship. Before launching into the title track, the album actually starts with a fourteen-second recording called “Salutations.” It’s nothing fancy — just a bell ringing in the open air somewhere — but it sets a tone and sends a message: Put down what you’re doing and listen!

Which I highly recommend because once the album proper starts, the hits just keep on coming. “Everest” comes in hard and fast, chugging along with a reminder that we all have an Everest to climb. Listening to the track, I can’t help but think of the troubles we’re all facing at the moment, the turbulent times we’re living in, and it’s feels good to have an anthem like this on my side when the shit hits the fan.

Not that Everest is necessarily a protest album. The slow-burning double-barrel blues of twin tracks “Summat” and “I Wanna Luv U” feel like a night at a seedy pool hall: dim lights and the stale scent of several decades’ worth of spilled PBR lingering in the air. Or maybe, it’s Budweiser, given that the twenty-two second Zappa-esque amuse-bouche (or should that be amuse-oreille?)that follows is called “The Marquis of Clydesdale.”

And should I be worried that the next track begins with a reference to melting flesh and crushing bones? Nah. “Tarkus” is just an homage to the Emerson, Lake, and Palmer album of the same name, though I have to admit that listening to Bottlecap Mountain sing about the album is actually more fun (for me, anyway!) than listening to the prog-rock classic itself. It turns out that three minutes and five seconds is exactly the right amount of time to sing about an armadillo/battle-tank hybrid.

From there, “The Incredible Machinations of the Fascination of Popular Culture” offers a synthy segue into “Glass Jaw,” itself beginning with a raw and ragged synth line before easing into a Springsteen-esque tale that takes on the sonic contours of grunge and swamp rock. Then there’s something bordering on yacht-rock in “Push It.” Maybe it’s the groovy bass line beneath the percolating conga beat, or maybe just the silky-smooth piano that floats over the song like a lilting summer breeze. Whatever the case, the song’s a real groove.

But I have to admit that two titles caught my eye before I even started listening to the album, and I could barely stop myself from skipping ahead to them: “Flying Crow Hot Dog Pt. 1” and “Flying Crow Hot Dog pt. 2.” But wait I did and was rewarded handsomely for patience. The tracks are a pair of weird sonic morsels that call to mind both early Pink Floyd or more recent sonic experimenters The Avalanches. And, of course, the aforementioned Frank Zappa, mixed in with a healthy dose of the Beatles’ “Revolution 9.”

The “Flying Crow” tracks and the brief follow-up “Everlasting Arms,” do a nice job of not just breaking up the album but infusing it with an air of playful mystery, perhaps serving as a hint to listeners that seemingly straightforward songs almost-but-not-quite album closer “Northwest” are deeper than their jangly guitars and relaxed drumming might suggest.

A song about heading home, “Northwest” is actually the perfect track to end the album, so the fact that the band tacked on one more track, a seventeen-second Residents-esque loop of rhythmic noise titled “George Mallory & Andrew Irvineâs Final Sighting,” is both gutsy and fun. Gutsy in the sense that they could have easily gone out on the high note of “Northwest” but didn’t, and fun in the sense that they’re not afraid to stick in a pin in their own creation to let a little bit of air out before heading off into the sunset.

Overall, Everest offers an exceptional blend of well-wrought rock-n-roll songs and interesting sonic morsels. Playfully earnest, earnestly playful, and everything in between.