Gimmicks are a tricky thing to do right. Most of the time, when a band has A Thing™, eventually their music starts serving the gimmick rather than the other way around (ex., Billy Joel, whose late-80s output was a pursuit for what would make the best music video). And honestly, it would be really easy to categorize Narrow/Arrow as a gimmick band and move on. Guitarist/vocalist Cody Nicolas usually plays two guitars simultaneously and every single one of their song titles is a pun.

And yet, they manage to escape all the trappings of their own gimmicks by offering earnestly moving songs and musicianship that’s impressive without ever being flashy. While Narrow/Arrow has been offering up a satisfying mixture of math rock and Midwest emo since their inception, they’ve never sounded more impressive—or more at ease—than on Asbestos Weak Hood.

True, anyone who sees Narrow/Arrow live is slackjawed and stunned at their frontman’s incredible multitasking ability. I myself have gone home and attempted a similar two-guitar playing style. So I’m fully aware of just how impressive his coordination is. But perhaps even more important than this fluency is his ability to use this idiomatic setup to write music that is actually listenable—and more than that, beautiful.

There’s an effortlessness here that makes absolutely no sense in the context of the theory and technique at play. The songs are very rarely in a straight common time. Jonathan Hape’s drumsticks bounce across the drum set like acrobats in a trampoline park. Bassist Donavan Hill wanders far and wide away from the low end, usually offering a third countermelody to Cody’s two guitars. Were you to analyze this, you’d likely fill up multiple pages with notes on meter changes, rhythmic patterns, and extended chord shapes.

And usually, music that’s this difficult to play is also difficult to listen to. But this is hardly challenging music. There is a pop sensibility to Cody’s vocal melodies and the band’s intricate accompaniment that makes the music sound deceptively breezy. It’s intricate without ever sounding dense, and emotional without ever feeling sappy or melodramatic. And when you’re dealing with math rock or Midwest emo, those are easy traps to fall into. Luckily, Narrow/Arrow is deft enough to dance right on the edge of these pitfalls without ever succumbing to them.