Time has a particular way of expanding during Real Emotional Trash’s 55 minutes, and if you’ve ever found pothead significance in Dali’s The Persistence of Memory, you are likely to enjoy the clock-melting aspects of this, Malkmus’ stoniest album. Many trademarks remain: song titles again appear to be the result of some Random Malkmus Name Generator app (“Elmo Delmo,” “Wicked Wanda,” “Dragonfly Pie”), and unexpected musical transitions continue to provide exciting sharp turns. But much of Real Emotional Trash sounds like a showcase for Malkmus The Guitar Player over Malkmus The Songwriter. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing: It is only natural that Malkmus’ tonal spelunking, having grown steadily adventurous over the course of three albums, would seek some sort of plateau. The trouble is, the more lyrical Malkmus’ guitar playing becomes, the more his actual lyrics provide a frustrating dissonance.

Where once Malkmus made an art of lyrical detachment, now he just sounds detached. The band, too, appears to be going through a sort of transition: Gone is Decemberists drummer John Moen, replaced by Janet Weiss (Sleater Kinney, Quasi, Wild Flag), an occasional contributor to previous album, Face The Truth. It is telling that despite two drummers as talented and distinctive as Moen and Weiss, such a personnel shift is barely noticeable here. A persistent problem with Malkmus’s “jammier” records is that he often seems like the only one interested in jamming, and nowhere is this more evident than on Real Emotional Trash. As guitar albums go, though, it’s a solid one. Malkmus’ profligate use of effects and extravagant solos might bum out fans of his taut, sunny side, but should please those who thought Endless Boogie made perfect sense as an opening act on his recent tour. “Dragonfly Pie” is all vacuum tube rattle and Sir Lord Baltimore fuzz, complete with a great Royal Trux-y chorus; “Hopscotch Willie” stages two harmonizing guitars in some after-dark schoolyard encircling each other with knives over a motoric midsection; more thick fuzz tones provide a hefty foundation for “Baltimore,” which, like album highlight “Elmo Delmo,” pits stoner guitar squiggle against melodies that do more than hint at Malkmus’ fondness for English psych folk. In the shadow of such mega-jams, the relative pop of “Gardenia,” “We Can’t Help You,” and the oddly Pulp-y “Wicked Wanda” seem ponderous, inconsequential, and somewhat out of place.