Mumford & Sons trades in the banjo for 'Wilder Mind'

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It is Good Friday at Lee's Palace, Mumford & Sons have ditched the banjo and kick-drum Americana for a synths and a Fender Telecaster, and if anyone were going to yell "Judas," now is the time to do it. The English nu-folk superstars are running through the shimmering material of their new album Wilder Mind only; anyone coming to hear something like the breakthrough 2012 single I Will Wait will have to wait for another night.

The band's fresh direction is ostensibly an about-face, but, unlike Dylan's mid-sixties betrayal of the folk-loving young fogies – one of them branded the troubadour a traitor at a gig in Manchester, England, in '66 – the move of the Mumfords is much less provocative. This here is the wide-screen stuff of Coldplay or Snow Patrol – all commonplace anthems, rafter-reaching emotions and U2-style sonics. The band's young, fawning and squealling followers at Lee's Palace are not at all offended. Quite the contrary, they are accommodating. Hypnotized and susceptible to proposals, the fans are an unchallenging kind.

Sure, somebody yells "Where's the banjo," but it's not even a real question, let alone a condemnation. When lead singer Marcus Mumford replies "Get out!" in mock irritation, everybody has a big laugh.

That the band could change from tweed waistcoats to leather jackets without alienating its devoted fan base – the keen poetry and loud-soft-loud dynamics of 2009's Sigh No More and 2012's Babel reached upward of seven million record buyers – is telling. The anodyne stomp and soar of its first two albums has been replaced with a similar sort of non-adventure, without any betrayal felt by the rabid disciples. Switching from one mainstream lane to another, Mumford & Sons play it safe: Signalling properly before easily merging to the left, the swerve from them is smooth.

The day before the ninja-style sneak gig in Toronto, guitarist Winston Marshall and front-man Mumford give an interview at a downtown hotel. Mumford limps about – "a soccer injury," he explains – before sitting down on a coach. He waves off the band's new sound by explaining that the drum machines, Mellotrons and electric guitars and basses on Wilder Mind are nothing new at all. "We grew up playing these instruments," he explains. "We grew up playing in jazz bands and rock bands."

This is standard stuff. A composer picks a concept, sticks it in the music and sends it on its way. "We want to be a song-based band," says Mumford, "and [different] songs need different support sonically." As for recording in a style not based in rural strumming and pub-friendly bashing, Mumford says they're actually a "bit more comfortable now" than they were, while recognizing that their identity as a spacey, muscular ballad-rock band was novel.

For Wilder Minds, the group switched from the producer of its first two albums – Markus Dravs – to James Ford, whose credits include albums by Arctic Monkeys and Klaxons. Initial sessions happened in Brooklyn with the National's guitarist Aaron Dessner, whom Marshall describes as an enabler and a collaborator. "He helped us chase ideas. He kept things moving."

At one point during the interview, Mumford and Marshall go back and forth on the idea of considering one's audience when composing and recording. They arrive at common ground when Mumford says that songwriting is a conversation, and that the last thing the band wants to do is put on a disaffected pose. "It's very communal with us," says Mumford. "We're not shoe-gazey."

On stage at Lee's, Mumford, tambourine in hand, tells his fans as much: "It's like we're playing for family," he says, to a roar of approval.

Kinfolk, then – unquestioning love, with Mumford & Sons as Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man: "Play a song for me," ask the devotees, easily satisfied. And in the jingle-jangle morning, they'll come following.

Fogarty and the fortunate sons

Marcus Mumford talks about the band playing with John Fogarty, a hero to Mumford & Sons, in September, 2013.

"People have asked us about a moment or an achievement that summarizes our career thus far. We've said, without fail, it was playing with John Fogarty, just because of the way it happened.

"We were in St. Augustine, Fla., doing our own festival, the Gentlemen of the Road show. We were headlining, but the band opening for us – fun. – dropped out, for whatever reason. We started calling around to people, and John Fogarty literally answered the phone. He was totally up for it, and we blew our budget flying him and his family in from Los Angeles.

"He arrived Saturday morning, and we spent hours jamming with him. When he plugged in, it sounded exactly like Creedence. We asked if we could be his backing band. He said: 'Of course, let's do it.'

"He gave us all plaid shorts, and we went on stage that night and played all his hits. His voice was absolutely bang on. He's like Neil Young – he's not suffered any degradation in his vocal performances over the years. The show was incredible; then he walked off and flew home.

"It's something I am really proud of. Because it was about music: It was spontaneous and rock 'n' roll and all the cool things you think about while growing up."