Talented neofolk band The Lumineers is best known for the annoyingly catchy and commercial song “Ho Hey.” It’s that song that creates a collective groan in the car yet one not sufficient enough to commit to changing the channel.

On their new sophomore album “Cleopatra,” the first since 2012, there lies no single that might mirror or eclipse the hypnotizing power of those chorus-sung “hos” and “heys.” However, in this album, much more underlying talent and artistic growth/direction is audible.

The first song opens up strong with a whispering wind, a deep drum beat, and an isolated agonized emotional croon. The guitar and tambourine garnish are slowly sprinkled in, and for some reason I kept expecting the lead singer to throw in a “ho” or “hey,” just for old times’ sake. But none came. And as the song progressed, I allowed myself to move on from their debut album, just like they had, and listen for the changes.

The album, like most sophomore albums, has a deeper and more experimental sound to it. The neofolk sound is assisted by instruments such as electric guitar and soft piano. The album is less airy, more emotional, darker. The band, like many other groups, tries to expand the sound to account for the growth that comes when freshman naivety is replaced by the acquaintance of twinkling cell phone flashlights raised in the air at sold-out stadiums.

Unlike most sophomore albums, the common overproduction and over-edited sophomore slump sounds are graciously nowhere in sight. Instead, the sandpaper grovel of lead singer/guitarist Wesley Schultz’s voice caresses one’s ears, coaxing the listener to analyze his lyrics instead of just let them float through. All the instruments and vocals build off each other to create a camaraderie . And there is never too much music. The album reads not like a lyrical book, but like a compilation of short stories, fables that build off each other to create an overall haze of meaning, and give everyone something to relate to.

Although most songs have at least one aspect going for them, the better ones tend to be given titles named after women. For example, the money making hit of the album will probably be “Ophelia,” the second track, and an already released single. It’s catchy and easily understandable, and the lyrics stay in the brain for a few songs after. The fast piano and subliminal clapping in the background makes toes itch to tap. The lyrics aren’t hard to memorize and the melody is perfect for humming or whistling to.  Other standouts include “Angela,” a guitar led ode to coming home, and “In the Light”, a slow and haunting melody of moving on.

This album is reminiscent of early Mumford & Sons day, a hole to fill the space they left when they went electric. It’s something to strum to on warm starry summer nights, sitting in the back of a blanket-covered pickup truck, or sitting on logs in front of a beach campfire. In a world as over-filled with confused indie singles on Soundcloud or YouTube as this one, “Cleopatra” offers structure and a plethora of options for every indie/alt fan to pick from. And the album is over much too soon.