Wondrous Bughouse is the rare sophomore album that almost completely rewrites the sonic signature of the artist who created it. Even serious fans of Trevor Powers will find some of these new songs close to unrecognizable thanks to the clear imprint of producer Ben H. Allen (Animal Collective, Washed Out, Cee Lo). The live drums, big bass, and maximalist approach to arrangement make the majority of 2011’s The Year of Hibernation feel downright skeletal in comparison. Bughouse is bold, brash, and destined to turn off a few folks looking for the sparse style and sharp-ish hooks of “Afternoon” or “17.” But, after a few spins, it’s bound to reap substantial rewards for the faithful.

Beginning with the glowering instrumental opener, “Through Mind and Back,” there is a mood of stately, stoned grandeur that rolls forward with wide-angle cinematic quality. A deeper arsenal of instruments, from shakers and sleigh bells to samples and synth sounds, illustrates a more dynamic, high-definition emotional landscape. An increasingly ambitious series of song structures provides unexpected twists and turns. Bridges lead seemingly to nowhere. Choruses topple over or split open like ripe fruit. An ornate, embroidered tone modulates throughout, wallowing in silky sadness then rearing up on its hind legs in terror. Much of the vibe is colored by classic piano-driven psychedelia. “Pelican Man” has elements that recall The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour while “Attic Doctor” channels Tin Pan Alley theatricality by way of Van Dyke Parks.

Perhaps the single most noticeable development is the treatment of Powers’ piercing, ethereal voice.  From start to finish, the vocals are soaked in reverb or processing. They’re often relatively low in the mix, mingling organically with the other instruments. When lyrics are purposely discernable they emerge molten orange then quickly flame out or get replaced by other sound to kaleidoscopic effect. Take the driving chant of “you’ll never die” in “Dropla.” It repeatedly arcs upward then washes away. Or the chorus of standout “Mute.” It builds to a huge crescendo then executes a perfect handoff to the soaring guitar solo. Everything is just heavier here.

But a bi-product of that extra weight is a loss of some of the intimacy and immediacy that’s been big part of Youth Lagoon’s early success. There’s no denying that Bughouse is a more challenging listen than its predecessor.  But it’s also more intricate, lush, layered, and ultimately provides a more satisfying listening experience.

 

Photo by Josh Darr