“If you want to change it, you must break it,” Dan Snaith quietly proclaims on “Sister,” his words of wisdom funneled into a twinkling synth lullaby. “Rip it up, and something new will grow.” No two of the producer’s albums feel like repeats—including the other projects he’s issued as Manitoba and Daphni since the turn of the millennium. But there’s always been a “Snaith Sound”: a liquid fusion of progressive house music, postmodern electronica and sunshine-y psych-pop. Suddenly , the fifth Caribou record (and first in six years), isn’t a “rip it up to change it” reinvention—fans who lost themselves in the technicolor haze of 2007’s Andorra or 2010’s Swim will feel the echoes throughout these 12 immaculately crafted sonic mazes. But it does feel, from within that fertile garden, that something new has grown. Suddenly is one surprise after another: tricked out beats and musical trickery. “You and I” opens as stomping synth-pop, with Snaith sighing in boyish wonder over an echoing four-on-the-floor kit; but after the one-minute mark, the chorus breaks into a chopped hip-hop rhythm. “Sunny’s Time” moves from pitch-warbled raindrop keys into disorienting rap samples, then winds down with another piano theme stretched like a rubber band into different keys. “New Jade” twists a two-second vocal snippet into a hypnotic hook over ricocheting programmed snares, rapid-fire digital tom rolls and harpsichord-like tones. “I promise you I’m changing,” Snaith reminds us on “Sister.” Changing, yes—and, more crucially, growing.