When a band’s second album is as decidedly dramatic a departure from their debut as Damiera’s sophomore release, you find yourself with two options. You can either focus on the noticeably absent musical elements that defined the band’s earlier work, or you can turn your attention to what’s new. Quiet Mouth Loud Hands will definitely be more accessible to your average listener, and could potentially introduce Damiera to a completely different audience than the fanatic bunch that took to their debut M(US)IC with such rabid enthusiasm. Once the initial shock of the new sound’s refusal to deliver on your expectations wears off, you might realize that you are holding a great album in your hands and celebrate it as a masterpiece. Or you might tune out for half an hour, until your iPod’s predictable alphabetic cycle takes you to Dillinger Escape Plan, waking you up with a heart attack. It’s really up to you.

So what’s missing?

Historically, Damiera have been a band that have walked the line between prog/math rock and punk/indie rock. Prog-heads might be turned off by the brevity and urgency of the songs, the blasts of punk energy, and the total absence of any metal influences or shredding guitar solos. At the same time, indie fans find themselves intimidated by the frantic dual-guitar interplay, the quirky and undanceable time signatures, and the perfectly-executed breakneck pull-off riffs. This time around, the band takes a very different approach, simplifying (though not completely abandoning) the virtuosic guitar acrobatics that characterized the first album. Gone is the all-out math frenzy of songs like “Flora: Yield,” a track that I am embarrassed to say I have been spotted air drumming to on my morning subway commute more than once.

So what’s new?

The focus of Quiet Mouth Loud Hands is less on relentless energy and manic guitar gymnastics, and more on the dynamics of each song as a whole. Every song has its own feel, with a diverse palette of influences and more complex arrangements. Lead singer Dave Raymond seems more comfortable with his voice this time around, lending it alternately to thick harmonies and punchy contrapuntal melodies, instead of just constantly yelping the highest note he could hit and burying it in the mix beneath multi-tracked guitars. The production makes use of a whole array of new layers and instrumentation, including digital handclaps, disco strings, distorted drums, and synth bass. “Teacher, Preacher” is vintage Michael Jackson, while the choruses to songs like “Blinding Sir Bluest” are so infectious, they almost leave you feeling guilty for enjoying them so much, like you ate ice cream for breakfast and the person in the cubicle next to you is eating grapes.

So what?

It’s hard to issue a definitive verdict for an album like Quiet Mouth Loud Hands. Tracks like “Nailbiter” and “Chromatica” incorporate elements of the first album, while “Trading Grins” sounds like an entirely new band. Anyone already familiar with Damiera will probably miss their old sound somewhat, but I can’t help wondering if I would evaluate these songs completely differently if it were the debut from a band I had just discovered. It might be the blueprint for this second incarnation of the band, or it might end up being merely a transitionary album between the old Damiera and something completely different, whatever might come next. Whichever the case, they get major points in my book for taking a risk and trying something new and yielding mixed results, and I will be faithfully tuning in to see what they come out with next. I always prefer that an album leave me scratching my head, rather than yawning.