Don’t You

Wet get one moment right — perfect, really — then stretch it out into an entire album on Don’t You. The Brooklyn trio’s debut draws power from a softly lurching weightlessness, the few seconds of suspended animation when the whole world falls away and you have few seconds of peace before gravity pulls you down. Their sound is a play on dreamy synth-pop, with keyboards that move like slow-motion waterfalls and guitars that tick-tock with digital precision — sometimes it’s all so Eighties, it’s like they’re teaching a master class in Madonna’s “Live to Tell.” The rhythm tracks don’t swing so much as sigh, nodding gently in the direction of the boom-bap of hip-hop or the winding grind of R&B, every syncopation like a held breath. Quiet thoughts and sounds are constantly expanding, creating a cloud that’s at once comforting and mournful. Song after song obsessively dissects a love that promises everything and — surprise! — comes up brutally short. “All the things you’ve never shown me,” coos Kelly Zutrau on the opener, “It’s All in Vain,” “tell me one more time before I leave.” The music cascades around her like dry ice, and you don’t know whether to applaud or cry.