I can still remember the first time I heard The War on Drugs. I was in my old apartment scrolling through Pitchfork’s “Best New Music” section and something about the overexposed cover of Slave Ambient captured my attention, so I quickly downloaded a Torrent (this was pre-Spotify) and turned it on. Motorik drums and analog synthesizers opened the record, joined shortly by the soft rock guitars and Bob Dylan-esque voice of Adam Granduciel. It sounded like Can or Neu!, but it felt like Bob Seger or Bruce Springsteen.

The marriage of Krautrock ambience, shoegaze, and classic Americana felt incredibly fresh. I couldn’t get enough. I called my local record store to order a copy, then listened to the previous War on Drugs releases, as well as the work of cofounder Kurt Vile, whose work hit a similar vein.

Since Slave Ambient broke The War on Drugs into the mainstream, Granduciel & Co. have been moving out of the hazy ambiguity of their earlier releases and into a clearer light. Lost in the Dream and A Deeper Understanding both retained a fair amount of ambient meandering, but the songwriting was pushed ever more to the forefront.

There are still plenty of electronics on I Don’t Live Here Anymore, but they’re far more reminiscent of 80s soft rock acts like Dire Straits or Springsteen’s Born in the USA than Faust or Tangerine Dream. Synthesizers often play horn-like lead lines instead of creating swirling atmospheres. And while The War on Drugs has always appropriated tropes of 80s soft rock without concerning themselves with corniness, they’ve always covered themselves in blankets of effect-heavy guitars and synth pads like wearing a low budget ghost costume.

On I Don’t Live Here Anymore, all pretense is gone. If they’ve ever had any misgivings about being labeled dad rock (I’m not sure they ever have), they now embrace the aesthetic with open arms. This is as earnest an 80s inspired soft rock record to be released since the Bon Iver-featuring Minneapolis supergroup Gayngs (and yes, I’m including Bon Iver’s i,i that even featured Bruce Hornsby himself).

All the dad rock tropes are here: Mark Knopfler-esque glassy Fender guitar tones and  wailing solos, Seger-esque pianos, Toto-esque synths, and just enough electronic drums to remind him of his disco phase. And all of this is wrapped up in a shimmering production that would make Steely Dan jealous. Even the cover looks like it was stolen from 1983.

And please: do not make the mistake of thinking that means I don’t like this record. At it’s very worst, it’s just a touch plain compared to the earlier records. But at its best, it’s sublime (see: “Victim,” “Harmonia’s Dream,” the title track). As it turns out, their brand of soft rock never needed to be mingled with Kraut or shoegaze to be palatable. It’s especially helped by Granduciel’s songwriting, which is as strong here as it’s ever been. His talent for evoking specific pictures of nostalgia in general terms (see also: Bob Seger) has always been one of the projects’ biggest assets, but it feels more pronounced here. His songwriting has never exactly been hidden on previous releases, regardless of how lush the walls of sound got, but it feels a bit like the veil has been torn away here.

While it does sting a bit to watch another band lose their ambient side (I’m still not over Deerhunter’s similar transformation), The War on Drugs has delivered another bona fide classic into their incredibly consistent discography.

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