The last few years have seen a renaissance in American psychedelia, with Mercury Rev, the Flaming Lips, and Grandaddy all achieving mainstream success. Fully deserving as these bands are, each has prospered by essentially employing the same trick: using vintage soundscapes to underline a cynical, modern view of the world we inhabit. It is refreshing, then, to see a band—a New Orleans band at that—attempt to boldly go where no man has gone before…at least not for some considerable time.

Bipolaroid’s debut CD harks back to a different era, when pipers played at the gates of dawn and field mice drank cups of tea in gingerbread houses. But as the band themselves are quick to point out, this is not a retro record. And, God forbid, don’t call it a local one. Ben Sumner’s rich production shimmers with tasteful string arrangements—brought to life by three members of the Louisiana Philharmonic—intertwined with swirling layers of guitar, Moog, and Mellotron. In lesser hands, the album could easily have turned out a cluttered mess. With Sumner at the controls, Transparent Make-believe proudly stands on a national level.

If she could speak, cover star Dolly (the world’s first cloned sheep) would no doubt testify that production is only half the story. Ben Glover’s songs are wonderfully insane, yet carefully crafted, with enough variance to hold one’s attention for the entire 48-minute trip. The big freak-out numbers (“Farewell and Godspeed,” “Dimension 5,” “Time Machine”) are liberally interspersed with charming psych-pop ditties (“Madeline,” “Galileo’s Son”) and the odd tale of insects, witchcraft, and butchery. Something for everyone, then.