In the 1990s, a five-year gap between albums would have been unthinkable for the mighty Superchunk, a group clearly capable of casting out another dozen hooks every year or so. But the break between 2013’s I Hate Music and 2018’s What a Time to Be Alive must have been a period of profound recharging: The group’s third album after a decade-long break was Superchunk’s most unabashed and unmitigated rock album since 1995’s Here’s Where the Strings Come In. If the proverbial strings had come in during the mid-1990s, What a Time to Be Alive marks the moment when they took their exit, with the members of Superchunk letting loose on their foes in 11 taut songs. Like most American bands in 2018, Superchunk’s enemies list was suddenly long and urgent. Arriving almost exactly a year after Donald Trump’s inauguration, What a Time to Be Alive presented a steamroller of invective, and was one of rock’s best early statements about our national state of torrid affairs. “Break the Glass” is a thundering call to action, meant to shake friends out of pretending everything will be OK, urging them to respond to revulsion with revolt. “Reagan Youth,” meanwhile, was a double-edged ode to the punk band of the same name, and a reflection on the conservative cruelty of the 1980s: That decade had begun with singer Mac McCaughan as a khaki-clad kid discovering punk, and then ended with him watching friends die of AIDS. The brooding “Bad Choices” admits that we’ve all made dumb choices in our youthful indiscretions, but that the more dignified of us at least try to outgrow ourselves, to learn empathy. Guests had never been a big feature of Superchunk records. But solidarity felt so important during that moment of upheaval that the band enlisted musicians from the Merge world—and beyond—for What a Time to Be Alive. Pedro the Lion’s David Bazan and A Giant Dog’s Sabrina Ellis both show up, but the real coup arrives on “Erasure,” a personal protest number about the need to rekindle youthful passion, and to forever be the fly in the administrative ointment. Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield and The Magnetic Fields’ Stephin Merritt—both Merge Records staples at various points—meet McCaughan in the chorus, fighting back across generations. It’s a hook that, in spite of the title, feels permanent, much like Superchunk’s legacy as one of indie rock’s best-ever bands.