Prior to release of Invisible People, the group's fourth album, Chicano Batman told Rolling Stone, "For the first time, we completely disregarded the 'Can we play this live?' challenge," and that statement explains the significant tonal shift from the quartet. While the Los Angeles-based band haven't abandoned their fusion of funk, soul, Tropicalia, and SoCal pop, what they have done is polish it so thoroughly it veers toward the sunnily psychedelic. Grooves can be funky but they lack grit. The rhythms are elastic and rubbery, flexible by design so they can both follow and fuel the shape-shifting sounds of Chicano Batman. Much of the appeal of Invisible People lies in how it twists and morphs with the elegance of a lava lamp, alternating contractions with expansions, always threatening to get seriously trippy without ever quite getting there. Floating above this long-legged, loping funk are period analog synthesizers, fuzz-drenched riffs, candied harmonies, wah-wah guitars, lounge pianos -- a bunch of retro affectations that retain their snazzy hipness since Chicano Batman smartly inverts expectations, deploying this flair in ways that land just left of center. Underneath all the cool gloss are pleas of empathy and togetherness, along with some elliptical protest tunes, and while those songs do lend Invisible People some topical gravity, the album is fleet on its feet, a sleek and breezy pancultural party.