I spent most of summer 2012 playing the Lumineers’ simple, string-driven melodies on repeat and wishing that I could pull off suspenders and a beard. But in the four years since the folksy trio became “that band that sings ‘Ho Hey,’” I’ve slowly forgotten about them. Inevitably, Mumford & Sons’ Babel co-opted my “~*~FoLk MuSiC for Mountain hikes and Views~*~” iTunes playlist that following September, and most of the Lumineers’ self-titled album would eventually be relegated to “{…FoLk MuSiC for sleep and study…}.” But within the first few bars of “Ophelia,” the lead single off of the Lumineers’ second record, I remembered why the band was once my first and only choice of soundtrack for angst and awed introspection in nature.

Opening with dramatic piano chords and lyrics like “And I can’t feel no remorse / and you don’t feel nothing back,” “Ophelia”’s mood is decidedly somber for the four lines or so. Just when the single seems as though it might become another serious, folksy ode to love lost, a cheerful piano melody cuts in, and slowly the track assumes the same hand-clapping, catchy character that made The Lumineers’ debut so successful in 2012. In fact, most of the other tracks on the record include a similarly sweet and catchy hook.

What separates Cleopatra from its predecessor—and what may make it less popular—is that the build up to these memorable choruses is often distinctly gradual, and few of the hooks are repeated more than once. “Patience,” an unhurried instrumental track and Cleopatra’s conclusion, embodies this strategy. If listeners expect each song to have a reiterated chorus that’s as easy to shout at your friends as “Ho Hey,” they’ll be disappointed. Often, it’s only after a couple of minutes of steadily increasing layers of instruments that lead singer Wesley Shultz rises to anything more than a conversational tone, and most of the songs end shortly after that—every song on the record is less than four minutes long.

The notable exception to this trend is “Cleopatra,” the album’s title single, which was released a few weeks after “Ophelia.” Its verses are lyrically interesting and easy to sing, its recurring chorus is backed by rhythmic strumming, and I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t soon surpass “Ophelia” as the album’s most played song on Spotify. The bass behind “Sleep on the Floor,” the album’s opening song, has a similarly captivating effect when paired with Shultz’s escalating vocals, and, each one of the lyrics on “Gun Song” sounds so punctuated and deliberate that it’s hard not to get drawn in.

It’s on some of the other tracks, though, where it seems that The Lumineers are intentionally holding something back, at least until they finally crescendo into a chorus that won’t be revisited. The issue might simply be that their audience has been yearning for the same easy, carousing melodies like the ones off their first album. I’m guilty of this too—I’ve been alternating between “Cleopatra” and “Gun Song” for weeks, but I’m trying to exercise some of the patience that Cleopatra calls for. With each listen, this patience is rewarded not only by each song’s finale, but by the thoughtful development that takes you there.