A lot of albums eventually come to signify times, places and attitudes in your life—all the more so if you occasionally imagine your life as though it were a movie, which is exactly the sort of thing that stodgier cultural critics would decry as yet another sign of the apocalypse. Events as large as my first month in Vancouver, and as small as bike rides along the shoreline during summer nights, all have accompanying soundtracks (the Fiery Furnaces for the former, Dear Nora’s We’ll Have a Time for the latter). But most of the time, it’s not at all evident what albums will be associated with what moments in life. There are plenty of albums I’ve listened to non-stop for short periods, but because there was no substantial hook to tie it into my life story, those albums eventually become forgotten.

And then there are albums that almost immediately take on the right tint and texture to fit into that particular season. Offend Maggie, Deerhoof’s latest, was one of those albums I picked up on a whim—hearing that it deviated from the raucous, uber-enthusiastic noise-pop extravaganza of Friend Opportunity, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the “other” Deerhoof I never knew. It only took two or three listens to convince me I was wrong, though. I haven’t heard an album that worked its way into the rhythms of my life so completely since—and this is slightly embarrassing—Veruca Salt’s American Thighs. It might be coincidence that I’ve just moved to a new apartment with great views of a city park slowly turning yellow and orange, but Offend Maggie seems to be the perfect soundtrack for an autumnal Saturday afternoon.