At the Orpheum on Sunday, September 25.

“The New Complexity” is a term that came into vogue in contemporary-classical music circles in the 1980s, indicating a turn away from the phased patterns of minimalism towards more richly embroidered forms. Judging by Bon Iver’s Vancouver appearance—not to mention recent Polaris Prize winners Arcade Fire—something similar seems to be afoot in pop. And it’s right on schedule, having taken the same 20 years to arrive that separated ’60s minimalism from the electronic efforts of, say, the Orb.

In other words, if you want to get in on the next big thing circa 2030, go buy your Vancouver New Music series subscription today. Conversely, if your intent is to finger the pulse of what’s happening right now, the Orpheum on Sunday night was as good a place to be as any.

First up, let’s say a big thank-you to Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon for inviting Stillwater, Oklahoma’s Other Lives to open five dates on his West Coast tour. Given the Wisconsin singer’s fan base, it would have been easy, and perfectly acceptable, for him to have chosen some lonesome solo act to fill that space. Instead, he opted for a largely unknown band that had 2,000 rabid new fans by the time it finished its set—and if Other Lives didn’t quite kick Bon Iver’s butt, it certainly kicked the headlining act into a higher gear.

Led by elfin singer Jesse Tabish, Other Lives consists of six multi-instrumentalists and an entire conservatory’s worth of musical instruments. What was perhaps most impressive about the band was the way it shifted shape, sometimes mid-song, without losing track of its core sound: whether playing chamber-pop with two violins and a cello, or percussion-heavy art-rock with glockenspiel, vibraphone, and cabasa, Other Lives delivered a dreamy-yet-propulsive blend of luscious harmonies and intricate textures.

How intricate? Well, I counted seven keyboards on stage, including an Indian harmonium, and they were shared by five of the six players. Drummer Colby Owens didn’t have any keys at his disposal, unlike Bon Iver skinsman Sean Carey, but he did stop the pounding long enough to play a few well-placed notes on clarinet.

Whether Other Lives has the songs to make the leap to headlining status is another matter: between his soft enunciation and the general clangour, Tabish’s lyrics were mostly missing in action, and those that were audible tended towards dust-in-the-wind platitudes. But the band’s collective focus was, in an unfortunately over-used word, awesome.

Bon Iver stimulated mass awe, too, but first there was shock—at least for those who still think of Vernon as the lone, brokenhearted troubadour of his debut, For Emma, Forever Ago. That point was made five seconds into the set: wearing a flannel shirt and wailing on a golden Gibson Les Paul, the singer seemed more bent on brushing the rust off the Neil Young template than reinventing the soft rock of the 1970s.

His nine-piece band only confirmed this shift in direction, which was even more marked on stage than on Bon Iver’s recently released, and self-titled, second album. Though not quite as versatile as Other Lives—only two of Bon Iver’s three guitarists play violin, for instance—Vernon’s assistants contributed silky harmony vocals, an ever-changing array of instrumental textures, and several brief but hugely impressive showcase moments. Most notable in that regard was saxophonist Colin Stetson, whose well-received turn in the spotlight was two-minute exposition on how to make a lone acoustic instrument into a hypnotic and almost electronic-sounding orchestra. Trombonist Reggie Pace was also noteworthy, both for his gorgeous solos and for his almost androgynously fluid singing.

As a whole, though, Bon Iver’s set seemed oddly bloodless, even calculated, especially coming from a bandleader whose early buzz was based on his ability to be nakedly emotional and intimate. The song sequence built remorselessly towards the most mawkish tune in Vernon’s repertoire, “For Emma”, here given a big prom-dance arrangement designed to send the audience off on a gust of sentiment.

That said, the singer redeemed himself in the encore with a rare moment of audience interaction. “This is not church,” he said, introducing a singalong version of his debut’s “The Wolves (Act I and II)”. “You are not praising a god you don’t believe in—you are praising music.”

With that, the audience belted out the chorus as directed, before filing out with surprisingly little hubbub—happy to have joined their hero in the sacred act of song, but relieved, I think, that this long and rewarding but just slightly short-of-transcendental concert was over.