HIGH FIVE: Panther’s Joe Kelly (left) and Charlie Salas-Humara play pattycake. IMAGE: Ingrid Renan

[ECLECTRO-SOUL] Jaded record-store snobs who spend more time discussing the music they hate than the music they love can rub off on you sometimes. In the case of Panther, the funkified local duo of multipurpose player Charlie Salas-Humara and drummer Joe Kelly, that’s what happened to me.

While listening to 14 Kt. God, the pair’s second and latest full-length, the disgust displayed on the face of one such hipster was followed with a contemptuous tirade about music living on “borrowed time and borrowed ideas.” For whatever reason, I nodded in agreement. The album wasn’t off to a good start­: The high-spirited, repetitive falsetto of opener “Puerto Rican Jukebox” is indeed straight-up obnoxious. The second song, “Her Past Are the Trees,” hovers into Caribou territory and could’ve been a great instrumental, but Salas-Humara’s uneven vocals only startle the pack. I pressed “stop” just as the bass groove of “Decision, Decision” kicked in. It just wasn’t the right time.

Weeks passed before another attempt was made—this time from a dark, damp basement, the perfect setting for a Panther show: all questionably sticky and a bit claustrophobic. But even though 14 Kt. God hits with strong, rhythmic muscle on the surface, there’s a lot going on underneath; discoveries like warm, resonant cello and subtle electronics make it a little more interesting with each listen.

The album really begins to bloom with “On the Lam,” a head-nodding, slow-funk burner with hollow, echoed vocals. It leads into “Violence, Diamonds,” a Spoonlike four-to-the-floor stomper, followed by “These Two Trees” and “Worn Moments,” both of which call to mind the unpredictable, curious post-rock of Chicago art-funksters Mahjongg. Panther’s musical incarnations are vast, and 14 Kt. God can feel a bit scattershot when consumed in one sitting. Sluggish tracks “Glamorous War” and “Take Yr Cane,” for example, are surrounded by a random prog number and a tune recalling the late-’90s heyday of jazz-leaning indie rock.

The band’s strength lies in its deft instrumental abilities; the vocals are the biggest prospective complaint (and a divisive aspect of Salas-Humara’s career). Aptly, “Total Sexy Church,” the album’s sole instrumental, is its highlight. Problem is, it appears so far toward the end one might just miss it—especially if they never made it past those first couple of tracks to begin with.