Real Estate’s sophomore album, 2011′s Days, was hidden in the same elements that many interpreted as safe. On its own, the sunshine-beckoning feel of the New Jersey band’s braiding guitars — always loosely played, air-tightly arranged — paired with Martin Courtney’s throw pillow-soft vocals suggested stakes no higher than Atlantic tide crashes at ankle depth. That was deliberate. Courtney’s lyrics firmly declared a deep personal investment in the easy days, only with such gentle composure that you’d sooner think he was just stoned. By never raising its voice, the album demanded we lean in to appreciate. Aimless drives through green aisles, strolls through decomposing leaves, long space-outs to the monotony of suburban landscapes. These aren’t moments of juvenile, indecisive navel-gazing to be derided as wasted life, Days argued. They’re growth-fostering revelations of the gift. It’s important.