Sometimes an MP3 isn’t enough. Despite being the most convenient way to carry, and share sound, these little electronic bundles of noise aren’t always the best way to experience our music. Some albums call for a nice, circular, piece of polished vinyl to relay the audible singles that Sleepy Sun send on their sophomore effort – Fever.

The filthy distortion screams to be stroked by a phonograph’s needle, the album’s fifth track – “Acid Love” – clearly signifies the end of side A, and the bellowing noise found on the last four tracks are clearly meant to originate from the subtle grooves only found on wax.

Despite following a very similar formula as 2008’s Embrace, the Northern California-based sextet manages to update their already solid sound with polished production which reminds us that rock & roll can still exist beside all of the genre-crossing “indie” acts that exist today.

“Marina” is an ambitious two-part jam that opens with dirty, reverbed guitar tone and ends with a flourish of shouted harmonies dubbed over a hostile percussion part. And while Fever is riddled with plenty of heavy guitar parts daddy would love (“Wild Machines”, “Open Eyes”), the set quiets down on songs like “Rigamaroo” and “Ooh Boy” where the latter finds Bret Constantino and Rachel Williams harmonizing like forbidden lovers singing lines like “Don’t let swell come down/the water is drowning our fate/Don't let the evil light carry our own weight/carry our souls away.”

The sound on Fever is the sound of a band confident with their sonic capabilities, and they’re not afraid to blend all their best qualities on “Freedom Line”. It jumps off with an acapella harmony, but transgresses into a bare-bones 1970’s rock tune that first relies on just bass and percussion, but swells violently into the album’s final track.

“Sandstorm Woman”, Fever’s almost ten-minute kiss-off, is Sleepy Sun’s big “we aren’t fucking around” song. They take their sweet time letting the slinky tune rise and fall while painting it with howling harmonica and beer-soaked guitar solos that sound like a late night jam session where the players aren’t buzzed on pineapple-mango martinis, but on shots of bourbon they chased with a whiskey and cokes.

So while Sleepy Sun don’t surprise anyone on Fever, they do manage to keep heart rates up, and ears awaiting their next statement. Let’s just hope it comes packaged in a twelve-inch gatefold instead of clickable hyperlink.