The lyrics are quotable but the pile-up of one-liners doesn’t always lend itself to definitive interpretation. The conceit is that the Monkeys are a cocktail lounge outfit on the titular moon base. The music is stark and edgy, with inflections from doo-wop and heavy rock. Songs are ephemeral, and not easy to decipher without listening to them repeatedly. Composing at the piano, Turner creates drifting tableaux of complex chords while musing on the distortions caused by the information overload of our era. “My virtual reality mask is stuck on ‘Parliament Brawl’/ Emergency battery pack just in time for my weekly chat with God on video call.”

The whole thing feels more of a solo curiosity than a group effort, though, which is risky given the muscular strength of the band. I have my doubts about how these songs will sound live. The only singalong anthem is Four Out of Five, which sounds like a Beatles pastiche fronted by John Cooper Clarke crooning about the gentrification of the moon with zero gravity Mexican restaurants. “I got rave reviews, four stars out of five,” swoons Turner. I’m willing to go along with his self-assessment if only for sheer audacity.