Punk is supposed to be simple and unsophisticated. Created in part as a reaction against the excessive complexity of prog and glam rock, it reveled in its lack of nuance. Sprawling concept albums and 10-minute songs were not part of the equation. Clearly, someone forgot to tell this to New Jersey-based punk rockers Titus Andronicus, whose hyper-literate, shamelessly epic songs have placed the band in the revered company of their influences, with The Replacements, Bruce Springsteen and The Hold Steady chief among them.

The band’s 2010 album, “The Monitor,” mixed the raw carnage of the Civil War with the stifling despair of modern life to form a dark opus about the depths of human suffering. Unabashedly ambitious, it eschewed instant, three-chord gratification in favor of slow builds and cathartic releases, and it worked on every level, placing Titus Andronicus among the most promising bands of the new decade.

“Local Business,” Titus Andronicus’s third LP, sees the band coming to terms with itself musically while struggling to grapple with life’s great mysteries. Taking the grandiosity and tempering found in “The Monitor” with the scrappiness of the band’s debut, “The Airing of Grievances,” “Local Business” turns inward, making personal existential crises feel every bit as momentous as the Civil War.

Lead singer and lyricist Patrick Stickles lays out his thesis from the first lines of album opener “Ecce Homo,” proclaiming, “OK, I think by now we’ve established everything is inherently worthless, and there’s nothing in the universe with any kind of objective purpose.” This kind of chronic uncertainty pervades the rest of the album as Stickles ruminates on the futility of the human condition, tempered by razor-sharp wit and unflinching honesty.

Augmenting the lyrics’ potency is the music itself, which successfully conveys the internal strife and self-doubt that provides the album’s thematic weight. Guitars swell and explode, deftly shifting from sloppy, Replacements-style riffs to power chords and frenetic finger picking with effortless virtuosity. Drummer Eric Harm pounds his kit as if releasing years of pent-up frustration, his exuberant backbeat holding together the band’s organized chaos. As a lead singer, Stickles is endearingly unrestrained, his voice occasionally cracking as he desperately attempts to find purpose in the fleeting charade that is his life.

Ultimately, it’s the balance between high and low art, between the pretentious and the primitive that separates Titus Andronicus from its peers. For all of its grand ambitions, Titus Andronicus doesn’t forget that punk is supposed to be fun. Its loose, ramshackle chemistry makes it sound more like a group of friends jamming in their garage than high-minded artistes, giving the songs a raucous first-take charm.

“Local Business” doesn’t hit quite as hard as “The Monitor,” but it’s exciting and vital nonetheless, serving as proof that Titus Andronicus isn’t afraid to push its limits. Though Stickles appears to achieve some sense of closure by the album’s end, one can imagine he’ll have plenty more to gripe about the next time around. For the sake of those of us who like our punk with a side of incisive wit, let’s hope he does.