Chris Wenner has a theory about why The Unawares’ third full-length record, When the Trees Are Empty, is such a taut and powerful garage-rock record: Restraint.

“They’re tight enough to do it live,” he says of the band. “People are relying on the studio to make up for their inaccuracies. If you’re confident enough to just show up and bust it out, it’s a truer picture of the essence of a band, rather than some caricature.”

Wenner, who is to The Unawares what George Martin was to The Beatles, is sitting in between drummer Rhett Berger and bassist James Wallace at The Whig; he leans on the table and strokes his salt-and-pepper beard.

“Music’s about an emotional response,” he says, “and it’s harder to convey an emotional response when it’s track on track on track, because it’s not a live moment.”

Unawares guitarist John Watkins nods and murmurs in assent.

“It’s like an Ansel Adams versus some Photoshopped picture,” Wenner continues.

The Unawares

The Whig’s jukebox flips between tracks, from David Bowie’s “Oh! You Pretty Things” to Chuck Berry’s “Maybelline.” The arresting opening guitar riff makes Wenner perk up.

“Like this song,” he says. “This song is just these guys there playing. This is the true picture of what you’re hearing.”

Wenner rattles off the finer points of old-school live recording techniques, of bouncing live tracks between machines, back and forth, until all the requisite parts were finished. He compares it to making cassette-tape mixtapes, or shooting photos on film.

“It’s the real essence, the soul of the people performing,” he says. “Now that we’ve jumped to digital, we have infinite possibilities. With the more technology I get, the more restraint I have to use. People have to use restraint.”

Restraint is a good theme for When the Trees Are Empty. Come Friday, some two years will have elapsed between the release of Pinkie Greene, The Unawares’ last record, a long time for a band that released two full-length records and one longer-than-average EP in just over three years. Recorded over six months in Wenner’s Anole Ridge Recording Studio — a retrofitted basement in Wenner’s home — and written in the preceding year-and-a-half, When the Trees Are Empty contains some of the finest moments The Unawares have put to tape. There’s the speedy “Avalanche Train,” which barrels through its 120 seconds like a bullet train. There’s “Monster Man,” which finds Wallace and Berger laying back and letting Watkins’ snaky guitar riff breathe.

“We thought [Trees] was going to be a long album,” Watkins says. “We thought it was going to be, like, 45 minutes.”

That’s a funny statement, considering When the Trees Are Empty is 15 tracks long and, at just over 36 minutes, is the longest Unawares record.

“It’s true to The Unawares’ style,” Wallace says. “Fifteen songs can still fit in under 40 minutes.” Berger laughs.

“Who needs filler?”

Certainly not The Unawares, who have built a reputation as being one of the region’s smartest, sharpest bands, mostly on the strength of its tightly coiled rockers and slow-burning changeups. Despite the dichotomy of tunes, each song is indelibly an Unawares song. It’s a testament to The Unawares’ greatest strength: The trio never overthinks its minimalist, streamlined rock ‘n’ roll, eschewing modern rock trappings to achieve all-killer-no-filter, in-and-out excursions into confident punk-rock bliss.

“We know that we have a sound,” Wallace says. “There might be, like, a few different aspects, three or four different aspects to what our sound is, but we know that there is a particular sound that is The Unawares. And, generally, everything that comes up is the sound. There’s no real trying; there’s just doing. Like Yoda. It’s already there. We don’t have to do anything to it.”

“We are, in that way, dissimilar than probably 90 percent of the bands out there in the world right there,” he adds. “And I like that about us, that there is no attempt to mimic any particular artist or genre or trend.”

He pauses, and glances between Watkins and Berger.

“Right?”

Berger shrugs.

“You is who you is,” he laughs.

“A cow don’t make ham,” Watkins jokes.  

The New Brookland Tavern is at 122 State St. in West Columbia. Doors open at 8:30 p.m.; admission is $8, which includes a copy of When the Trees Are Empty. With Mercy Mercy Me and Coma Cinema; Wenner spins at the post-show dance party. Call 791-4413 or visit newbrooklandtavern.com for more information.