An amalgam of alt-radio elements, Carmine Red combines Muse's vocal melodrama, the Postal Service's mild electro-percussion and Incubus' chilled grunge, reserving room for acoustic adult-contemporary balladry. The record-opening title track on Anniversary begins with Dexter Williams' gentle croon and ginger strums, delivering the folksy sensibilities that the album's autumn-hued cover promises, then demonstrates surprising brawn with colossal drum fills and chiming reverberating guitars. Though soft-loud dynamics have been genre-standard for decades, Carmine Red stretches the spectrum, ranging from breathy earnestness (recalling Snow Patrol at its most maudlin) to arena-sized eruptions that salvage these songs from the sap bucket. The skittering glitch beats during the verses make the rock drums during the choruses sound enormous by comparison, and the twinkling keyboards lend atmosphere. The final tune, "Orchid," initially feels like a nine-minute fuse with no detonation, but the stark piano backdrop fits Williams' epic dark-night-of-the-soul struggle with spiritual fidelity.