The difficult thing about listening to Wire (and subsequently reviewing them), is their resolute indifference to what people at large and the press in particular think of them, and how stubbornly unconcerned they are about their lasting place in the music industry. That also remains part of their appeal, which creates a bit of a dilemma for any fan. For threaded throughout their angular, feisty back catalog are songs that are so insular, and written to please only the members of the band themselves, that it’s tough going for any listener trying to find a way into their often impenetrable music.

So getting into Wire requires a bit of work then, and unfortunately a lot of music fans are lazy and settle for easily digestible pop music that is force fed to them by insipid radio stations that quit taking any chances decades ago. Hence Wire’s continual commercial insignificance, which is only partially offset by their resounding critical acclaim. But of course the band couldn’t care less about all of that external nonsense and preconceived paradigm shifts. They boldly continue writing (and rewriting) their own rules while carving their own way through this dense forest of din known as the music industry.

Which brings us at long last to Red Barked Tree, their twelfth studio record and first in three years. The band is now functioning as a taut, pared-down three-piece, (featuring founding members Colin Newman, Graham Lewis, and Robert Grey, with no additional support), who sound determined and daring on this new batch of songs, but only after a decidedly shaky start. For Red Barked Tree, much like the band’s career as a whole, takes a bit of patience before you reach the eventual payoff. The record begins with some pronounced missteps, as ‘Please Take,’ despite its crass language and determined anti-authoritarian stance, still sounds like Ween, and ‘Two Minutes’ comes off as a punk version of ‘Parklife’ without the catchy chorus and easily discernible cultural criticism. So, much like any live performance, where the band and their audience take some time to warm to each other before the show truly takes off, Wire seem content to take a while to reach their comfort zone. But by the time the ominous rhythm of ‘Clay’ kicks in, the band is locked in: sounding innovative and inspired and thankfully keeping things in high gear for the majority of the record.

‘Bad Worn Things’ simmers a bit before finding its focus, as the clever vocals guide the song boldly forward, before Lewis’ insistent bass line gives way to a distinct melody while the song truly takes off. The lyrical theme of claustrophobic overpopulation, and its dire affect on every aspect of our lives, is ever-present on ‘Things,’ and continues throughout the rest of the album as well. And now that Wire have our full attention, they unleash one of the best songs they’ve written in years, the raucous, unruly ‘Moreover,’ which burns with an intensity and urgency that any band would kill for. And the fact that these punk veterans continue to find these bursts of brilliance is a testament to not only their highly creative natures, but also their fitful dissatisfaction with resting on their legacy or settling for any type of status quo.

The band keeps that blistering pace going with the unyielding dynamism of both ‘A Flat Tent’ and ‘Smash,’ which has an explosive coda as well as a surprisingly melodic (for Wire at least) chorus that only carries the tune further into its boisterous conclusion. After that breakneck, incendiary burst of artistry, its no surprise that the group wind things down a bit with the hypnotic pulse of ‘Down To This’ and the title track, which closes the album out with a wistful warning to take good care of what matters the most to us before it inevitably slips away. Thankfully, Wire have managed to stick around, despite (or perhaps because of) the music world’s relative indifference: continually crafting challenging, imaginative albums that force the rest of us to try desperately to catch up to their groundbreaking pace, lest we get left behind listening to the fleeting, nonsensical hum of whatever’s in fashion today.