It’s been a process, according to guitarist and vocalist Owen Wuerker, 25. “First we had a ’90s alt-rock thing, then a shoegazey winter period, and then for the biggest chunk of time we didn’t have a drummer,” he says. “And now we’re kind of reapproaching being loud.”

After playing a number of acoustic sets, the Petworth-based group—now with drummer Emma Baker—has found that shift a little tricky. “Playing acoustic, you’re trying to get the most out of your voice and your instrument,” says Genevieve Ludwig, 24, who also sings and plays guitar. “And then switching to playing loud, it’s more a game of trying to be restrained, trying to figure out levels.”

Yet Wuerker believes that its new cassette EP, Wholes, is the group’s most “honest” work to date. He calls it “an actual representation of what we sound like live.” Its title track is its most articulate, even while its vocals sound like sighs. As Ludwig’s feathery voice hangs in the air, Wuerker and guitarist Sean Borja go back and forth on guitars in a call-and-response. The bass, played by Chris Taylor, sounds like it’s leading us down a rabbit hole. Taylor jokes that a friend once called Big Hush’s music “Beach Boys on acid.”

If it is, it sounds like a heavy trip: The lyrics of “Whole” dwell on death, the search for identity and remaining whole in a world that wants to pull you apart (“Don’t try to be whole,” go the lyrics). “It has a kind of morbid meaning,” Ludwig says. “We had a number of young friends die over the years. It just became something that we’re used to—this [crappy] circumstance—and the song was born out of the idea of losing your ground.”

On the other side of the coin, “Wholes” celebrates the self. It’s not Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” but the track ultimately encourages acceptance. “It’s making you think about not trying to be perfect, that no one is a perfect circle,” Ludwig says. “Everyone is just what they are.”

Big Hush plays an EP release show Nov. 22 at Babe City.

Listen to the Silver Spring trio’s 2013 LP and you, too, might feel a little stretched: the experimental Bad Brother packed in abrupt shifts in rhythm and melody, snaking through a succession of distorted, percussive wormholes. The band might eschew the rock-criticism cliché “angular”—“What does that even mean?”, Rosenberg asks, grinning—but it’s not a bad adjective for the hairpin turns and unexpected tonal shifts on that 2013 release.

The band jokes about what its sound could be called, throwing out monikers like “angular spaz rock,” “spazzy math rock” and “post-feelings indie.” Rosenberg says, “It’s a balance between being earnest when asked about the type of music we play, but also not wanting to get pigeonholed into a small box.”

Bassist Andy Chervenak (who recently replaced Daniel Pouridas) says “Foulbrood” might be the most accessible song from the band’s forthcoming LP by the same name, out Nov. 25. Laughingly, he calls the track an “ass-kisser.” He’s not completely joking: The song is polished, and it follows a melodic thread unlike some of the more acrobatic songs on Bad Brother. But drummer Matt Gatwood insists that “Foulbrood” still sounds recognizably like Two Inch. The drums still crack, and Rosenberg’s vocals, while bright at times, sound ringed by edginess. The hopeful notes that dot the track fade into memory by the song’s moody end, which leaves its ideas weightless, suspended in space.

On the new album, the trio says to expect a more grave, patient sound, born from a developmental and productive year as the band grew as songwriters and joined Exploding In Sound Records, whose roster includes Speedy Ortiz, Krill and Pile. When Chevarek joined the band, he lent a fresh perspective, Rosenberg says, “because Andy really has a knack for seeing the whole picture.”

For those of us still on Earth, the astronauts’ new album could bring that picture into sharper focus.

Two Inch Astronaut plays Oct. 21 at The Beehive.