Every week, we tell you about an album we think you need to spend time with. This week’s album is Bon Voyage, the new album from French singer Melody’s Echo Chamber.

Melody Prochet gained a following in the shadow of Tame Impala, an early career affiliation that proved both a platform and crutch for the French songwriter. After watching Kevin Parker’s prodigious psych-rock project perform in Paris, and then subsequently touring alongside them with her then-band My Bee’s Garden, Prochet asked Parker to produce her upcoming solo album. The resulting debut studio LP from Melody’s Echo Chamber was a warmly received collection of textural dream pop, very much of a piece with Tame Impala’s heralded breakthrough Lonerism, but also containing unique strains of California desert rock and Scottish ethereal wave. The collaboration proved a seamless fit for Prochet, who described the record as her “dream sound.” But while resulting in an elegant album of boldly experimental psychedelic garage pop, Prochet’s distinct songwriting voice easily felt lost in Parker’s swirling production, with his drumming and synth work unmistakable to the point of eclipsing the greater nuance operating under each track.

It’s been five years since Melody’s Echo Chamber’s release, and in that time Tame Impala rapidly became one of the biggest “rock” bands running, largely by shapeshifting that trademark sound into a thicker, post-EDM bog. Prochet’s sophomore album was originally conceived with Parker’s support, but lagged as incomplete for two years before ultimately being discarded. Yet those false starts led to more exciting alternate outlets. In 2015, Prochet met the members of Dungen at Leviathan Festival, and afterward decided to move to Sweden for over a year to work on a new new album with the band’s Reine Fiske and the Amazing’s Fredrik Swahn. The trio called themselves “the Bermuda Triangle,” because together they would “just get lost in the music.” The result of their efforts reflects a similar immersive wormhole, holding cavernous enclaves of idiosyncratic instrumentation that are wide-ranging and wildly juxtaposed. Removed from Parker’s oversight, Prochet’s irreplaceable voice shines through more clearly on Bon Voyage, a tour de force of whimsical-yet-virtuosic sound-collage pop. While the music from her debut danced in fits and spurts, each song was typically set around an underlying recurring movement. On Bon Voyage, rhythms will suddenly and drastically shift momentum, toppling over previously established grooves and tones with interludes and breaks that carry only tangentially related elements of the previous section.

Take the very first track, “Cross My Heart,” which opens with a regal parade of orchestral swells and ripples that settle into lush multi-tiered psych-pop, before abruptly dropping out into an incongruous burst of propulsive open-air flute-scatting. From there it spins into a whole mess of moments delivered in rapid clip like flipping through television channels, before finally emerging as a patchwork of fleeting sounds that feel at once magical and distinctly of the Earth. And that’s all in just the first half; the last three minutes of the song carry forward loosely riffing on past segments but mostly blowing them out onto a colossal scale. “Cross My Heart” is no outlier either; rather, it sets the expectations for the rest of the seven-track record. While most songs reach around or past five minutes to give space for Prochet’s many ideas to stretch out, even the comparably succinct lead single “Breathe In, Breathe Out” fits several independent motifs in its runtime. The song opens with a busy barrage of warped synths, swinging whistles, and chugging drums that marks it as a chamber folk sweep a la Grizzly Bear, but then goes dark without warning a minute in for a brief stop of vocal and sludgy guitar dalliances. It then picks back up into an unforeseen scuzz ripper, and finally mellows out as a sumptuous indie-pop gem.

But continuing to list out every evolution carried on within these songs would take too long, and be nearly impossible anyhow — there’s just so much going on that it takes multiple listens to notice and even more to begin to understand. Almost every song (save the delightful 90-second Swedish folk duet “Var Har Du Vart?” written by Dungen’s Gustav Esjtes), makes use of polyrhythms, multiple languages and nonrecurring hooks. You’re more likely to have favorite sections within songs than an actual favorite song as a whole. But despite the considerable expanse in scope, Prochet threads through each composition some string that carries you from moment to moment in a streamlined flow, dotting every tangent with shades from the same color scheme.