With 2012’s A Different Ship , indie-rock outfit Here We Go Magic started to feel like a legitimate band—both structurally and aesthetically. But that layered, expansive record—produced by Radiohead collaborator Nigel Godrich, the king of coaxing spectral sounds from rock bands—turned out to be a fluke. The following year, frontman Luke Temple veered back into solo mode—only reviving the Magic project for 2015’s Be Small , which juked away from Ship ’s hi-fi spaciness in favor of a muddier, more intimate sound aided only by drummer Michael Bloch. That shift wasn’t entirely surprising: After all, Temple began Here We Go Magic as a bedroom four-track lark. But it’s disheartening to hear an artist with such a grandiose vision operating on such a limited canvas—like expert cinematography ruined via bootleg VHS. With Both-And, which follows his 2016 solo LP, A Hand Through the Cellar Door , Temple takes a bold leap back into Technicolor— exploring the Kraut-rock grooves, psychedelic weirdness and acoustic folk tranquility that defined Here We Go Magic at its band-iest. The album commences with a jarring electronic aside, “(O),” but gracefully segues into the art-folk gallop of “Don’t Call Me Windy,” a hypnotic wash of fingerpicked guitars, funky bass and click-click programmed beats. Both-And is defined by that call-and-response between ambience and song: Delicate marimba and synth waft through the Bossa nova atmosphere of “Wounded Brightness,” before jazzy drum loops push the subsequent “(D)” into an electro-prog drone. Find yourself a songwriter who can do Both-And .