At a previous job, we had this bluetooth speaker people would take turns sharing their music on. Even though most of the staff were in their 20s and 30s, my taste was still comparatively unconventional. Every now and then, I’d sheepishly true to throw something on and mentally keep track of how long it took before someone would call a time out. Sometimes, I had a good run. Other days, I got shut down pretty quickly.

One particularly day comes to mind: shuffling through a host of folk-flavored indie songs without issue, only to be graced with the haunting sound of musical saw on “Junk Drawer Sorrow.” I surrendered my privilege for the day. Now, I knew it was coming, at least at some point. The eclectic stylings of Frontier Ruckus haven’t ever deviated far beyond what might be loosely called “folk,” but the specific manifestation of the sound has shifted with each release – between Decembrists-adjacent lyrics and cinematic builds to the simplicity and honesty of bluegrass of ult-country to Sufjan Stevens-esque use of horns, saws, and synthesizers. Between albums, frontman Matthew Milia took time to put out two new solo records. And it’s this time alone that only makes the return with compatriots David Jones and Zachary Nichols more captivating.

On the Northline, by and large, is neither a weak point nor an abrupt change of course for the trio and their guest players. There are moments that hearken back to some of their earlier work – like the album’s title track feeling home alongside some of the songs off The Orion Songbook – but even the band’s first professional recordings don’t feel dated a decade and a half later. This isn’t something many bands can boast, but the band’s no-frills approach has withstood the sense of time. Of course, it does no one any good to simply compare a group’s latest work to songs they put out over a decade a go.

So, what are the highlights? For one, saw is back, baby. There are a lot of horns. I can’t quite place it, but I think there’s accordion as well. Banjo has not gone anywhere. In some ways, guitar is actually less prominent – it’s still there, but every new layer seems to be more attention-seeking than the last, until Milia’s voice sits as island encircled by a moat of instrumental fanfare. His vocal technique as usual has a short of shy and gentle flavor, never too loud or aggressive, lending to the honest and earthy quality of the group’s songwriting.

This latest album is 12 tracks, which does nothing to put a dent in Eternity of Dimming but still manages to make a dent. Its runtime lingers just shy of 50 minutes. And throughout its entire girth, the trio continue to flaunt their prowess under full, lush production. It’s not fair to do a discography ranking here, but I’ll simply say there are some gems here.

All the singles have stood out in their own ways, but there’s plenty in between to look at. “Swore I Had a Fried” is a store opener that isn’t shy in the slightest in terms of instrumentation an weirdly-specific lyrical one-liners. Milia opens about how a gift card expired on “Magdalene (That’s Not Your Name)”, a track that easily could have worked as a single due to its more accessible nature and plentiful melodic motifs.

“Bloomfield Marriott” takes a somewhat more ominous approach with its brooding intro before diving into a conversation laced with questions and ruminations from a hotel room. It’s another highlight.

“I’m Not the Boy” feels like an experimental version of the previous combo of “Bike Trail” and “I Met Rebecca,” with multiple mid-track shifts into sprawling instrumental segments lined with triumphant horns and chilling saw melodies.

And album closer “Wherefore” kicks off with ambience and banjo arpeggios, drifting into a sound reminiscent of old JRPG soundtracks. Motifs come and go as the underbelly of the track continues to contort. There’s a slide guitar solo thrown in for good measure before everything fades to silence. It’s an interesting choice, and I’d have to admit it’s not my favorite creative decision. There’s a lot of dynamic movement, but it’s certainly not as strong as it predecessor, causing things to slow down at the end. Frontier Ruckus is a lyrical band by nature, so this seems contrary to their primary strengths. Maybe it would have worked better mid-album as a segue between tracks, but I’m not sold on it as the final statement for the album – which arguably is where you’d want to punch hardest other than your opening song.

Overall, this latest album is Frontier Ruckus at their finest. It’s their core sound yet again, augmented by plenty of auxiliary instrumentation. And the abundance of horns, saw, and the like might throw off some of the purists who care more for their more straightforward tracks, but it’s clear the band isn’t content to stay in one place. Throughout, there’s lots to admire musically and Milia’s lyrics (always capturing the essence of time and place with incredible aptitude) are always fascinating to me. Frontier Ruckus haven’t reinvented the wheel on their sound, but they’re sure given it a nice polish.