Sybris’ self-titled debut encompassed the whisper-to-a-scream dynamics of grunge, the scorched yet melodic chug of pop-metal, the cosmically inclined grandeur of 1990s shoegaze, and the hazy romantic recrimination of pre-millennial alternative music in general. Their second album, Into the Trees, suggests that they’ve no intention of changing course. They seem to exist in a bubble, suspended in the moment between Nirvana and electronica; the effect is sharpened because this band (so evocative of the thin yet distinct seam between indie and mainstream that prevailed until widespread consumer internet blurred it) seems so ambivalent about the 90s music of their native Chicago– no free-jazzy squalls, post-rocky metrical shenanigans, or improv aesthetics contaminate their loping indie rock. This isolation makes them seem benignly reactionary– at a time when a new genre is minted every day, Sybris remain charmingly retrograde.