Dan Bejar has dabbled in electronics before. Your Blues, from 2004, was strewn with MIDI experiments, stripped-down arrangements harshly interrupted by canned strings, and horns straight out of an early They Might Be Giants record. So shamelessly primitive were those sounds, I could never tell whether he was having a laugh or not, and spending the subsequent two records indulging his inner Springsteen seemed to complete the wink. Turns out Destroyer was just upgrading his equipment. The title track from his Bay of Pigs EP is a return to synthscapes, and far from a dainty toe-dip in those waters-- this song is nearly a quarter-hour of minimal drone and rave-up accents. And though all the usual Bejar watermarks are present and accounted for-- alcoholism and girls' names, a rousing la-la chorus, pretzel-shaped rhyme schemes-- they're set in surroundings more ambitious than he's ever attempted. Nearly five minutes of ambient bleed makes up the first movement, Bejar's off-kilter delivery the only object in the fog with definite outlines. When the full band finally kicks in a few minutes later, it's more of a "band," with an improbably shimmery guitar and clockwork rhythm section making it all resemble a karaoke-room soundtrack. But it's an arrangement full enough of Easter eggs to keep up with Bejar's usual densely-packed lyrics, with only the quiet coda at the end feeling superfluous. Perhaps it's a necessary soft landing after a long, rewarding expedition that delivers a five-year payoff.