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***QUIETUS sound like the house band at the last bar at the end of the universe, accessible through a secret entrance by way of a whispered password. Their music drifts and arcs, beholden to some unknown gravity, but always threatening to verge—angry and exhausted—out of its orbit, back to chaos. Their third full-length practically drowns you in Quietus’ sensuous world. There’s a lushness to this music that obscures the deep ache at its core. At times, Quietus is akin to a post-rock take on some of the finer songwriters of our age: The wee-hours-last-cigarette waltz of the late Leonard Cohen; a trace of Nick Cave’s epic drama; echoes of doomed souls such as Tim Buckley and Townes Van Zandt. Often, the songs bloom into slow-motion climaxes hinting at casual violence. Even when the music swans about and leers at its lovers, there is always the suggestion of a darkness lurking beneath.