Australia’s Paper Scissors are a quirky and exciting amalgam of the earliest post-punk art bands and contemporary indie pop. Some of their high-energy, nervy tunes—like the jagged “On Your Hand”—feel clearly rooted in the past (Jai Pyn’s edgy yelp sounds a bit like Tom Verlaine's). Others, like the billowing, breathing “Dozens,” could only have been birthed in these times of Animal Collective and Modest Mouse. Prone to wearing sensible polos or natty suits and neat haircuts, the trio seems like a well-oiled machine, confident and sure of its smart sound. It’s not easy to write a song that has both jittery propulsion and oddly commercial potential (“Taller Than You Then” is like U2 on steroids), or a dark, raucous ode to misery with a catchy, sad chorus. (On the single “Lum Sum,” Pyn howls: “Let us drown our sorrows and never come up . . . for air/for air/forever/for air!”) The noisy underlying textures of the hip-swaying “Over There,” the unspooling tension of “Mechanism,” and the twitchy dance groove of “Wrong” yield many impressive surprises.