Over the past decade or so, the musical output of Washington, DC-born trio Trans Am has been accused of cribbing from sounds as disparate as the futurist machinations of Kraftwerk; the all-out, experimental fury of Can; the noodly epics of King Crimson; and even the grandiose, finger-licking Top 40 of Foreigner and Peter Frampton. It’s hard to reconcile such a large swath of audio ingredients into one particular stew, so Trans Am has rationed its touchstones since its eponymous album in 1996: the major phases including re-imagined cock rawk hallmarks packaged as post-rock; a new reliance on synths that culminated in 1999’s Kurzweilian Futureworld; and a white-after-Labor Day, late-’80s electro boondoggle (T.A. in 2002).

In early 2004, they joined a large mass of bi-coastal discontent, making the obligatory political record that bands hailing from their region are bound to cough up. Liberation conveyed feelings of paranoia, imperialism and buffoonery with each hesitant beat, propagandist sample, squalling synth or stuttering bassline. The result was about as cuddly as hugging Dick Cheney in his hunting gear. However, through none of Trans Am’s many reinventions would its sound be considered particularly soulful—technical, descriptive, ironic, noticeably male, yes.

Rather than another mere reinvention, Trans Am opted for sexual reassignment. Sex Change reconvenes after a two-year forced relocation, where the three band members scattered to the winds: multi-instrumentalist Phil Manley to San Francisco, multi-instrumentalist Nathan Means to New Zealand and drummer Sebastian Thomson to New York/London. Last June, they gathered in Auckland, New Zealand, to begin their eighth studio album on borrowed equipment, eventually wrapping it up in Brooklyn in a total of three weeks.

After two records that seemed to miss their targets with critics and fans, Sex Change’s sea change may be too little too late. The tones are notably homier and cleaner throughout the record, with insouciant hints of P-Funk, disco and even Californication here or there. “Obscene Strategies” and “Tesco vs. Saisnbury’s” retain some of the band’s past air of detachment with haunting keyboard washes and gritty beat work, respectively. But sandwiched among the lighter fare, this seems like a Trans Am with its top down from the first Earth, Wind & Fire-like sparkle of opener “First Words.” 

“North East Rising Sun” is the closest thing the band has got to an open road song, with expectant, bright synths and oblique but hopeful lyrics. Sunny, alt-country colors “4,378 Regrets,” while “Repreive” reworks The Cure’s “Close to Me” as an optimistic paean to the future. Even the bombastic closer “Triangular Pyramid”—which exudes a Queen-at-Wembley vibe—signals new beginnings.

The question is whether the band’s fanbase has stayed on the ride long enough to start over.

Feb. 24, Knitting Factory, 74 Leonard St. (betw. B’way & Church St.), 212-219-3132; 6:45; 10:30, $13/$15.