Is it possible to evaluate art without making some assumptions about an artist’s intentions? The imperfect aesthetics of indie rock offer a case study: Is the production “lo-fi” or a result of incompetent recording? Is the musicianship loose or lazy? Are those off-key vocals subversive, or can this person just not sing? This conundrum becomes particularly acute when discussing self-styled slacker figurehead Mac DeMarco and his “jizz jazz” acolytes, typified by a veneer of unctuous production that replicates the pallid soft-core of an American Apparel photo shoot. This includes Homeshake, the popular project of former DeMarco guitarist Peter Sagar. That associative context made it easier to appreciate Homeshake’s previous albums of offbeat, gag-filled psych-pop. But on Helium, his fourth, he trades guitars for synths and scrubbed-up production while citing experimental influences. That question about intent becomes pointed: Does Helium aspire to do anything more than replicate and compound the boredom that inspired it?

As may be expected from a guy whose previous albums were titled In the Shower and Midnight Snack, Sagar owns the inconsequence of his music. Nearly every song on Helium thrums on an ambient social anxiety and a refrigerator-hum kind of chill, quintessential elements of a millennial online persona. “Everyone I know lives in my cell phone,” he speak-sings on the album’s very first line. Elsewhere, the lyrics read like sativa-enhanced observations on technology and extroverted introversion, the kind of stuff minor celebrities pass off as insight to the tune of a thousand retweets.

Sagar forays into styles that are, by design, somewhat boring: smooth jazz, quiet storm, hold Muzak, stuff that is so antithetical to counterculture that it almost becomes avant-garde. The doddering synths and dashed drums of Helium should be familiar to anyone who passed through the altered zones of experimental R&B in the early 2010s. Where How to Dress Well and Autre Ne Veut revealed themselves as powerhouse vocalists the moment they got a budget to match their vision, Sagar only works in signifiers. The bass slap of “Like Mariah” is a @Seinfeld2000 gag translated to song, divorced from the rhythm and friction of funk; the song itself is a one-note joke about having a five-octave range and, lol, how weird that would be. The drum sample of “Just Like My” appropriates New Jack Swing in the most obvious way, swapping out timeless songwriting for Sagar’s best shower falsetto.

What’s more, Helium is supposedly influenced by the experimental textures of Visible Cloaks, footwork pioneer DJ Rashad, and next-generation footwork warper Jlin. But maybe he’s just reading The Wire? Helium moves with the numbing pace of a stubborn hangover, and its drums have the grain and snap of limp celery. The alleged impact of Young Thug, one of the most inventive and unpredictable vocalists of the 21st century, on these inert melodies is anyone’s guess. The lyrics, Sagar says, were inspired by a Murakami binge—while the narrators do share a general displacement, he lacks any sense of the surreal.

The sheer lethargy of Helium at least creates, under anything less than the slightest scrutiny, a coherent experience that can be praised as a “vibe.” And numbers don’t lie—several Homeshake songs have amassed more than 10 million Spotify streams, a testament to the benefits of blending in with any permutation of “Chill” or “Indie” playlists. After all, they are built to satisfy requests like one Sagar makes here. “I need something medium,” he sings, underscoring how the paralyzing malaise of Helium can’t even get him there anymore.