Untogether

**When Braids released their debut album back in 2011, Raphaelle Standell-Preston and co’s expansive avant-pop sort of caught everyone by surprise. _Native Speaker_ stretched itself across vast sonic space with the kind of ease you’d expect of an LP made by a bunch of twenty-somethings exploring the limits of their capacity, and it was a success mainly because the gangly Canadian quartet were young and excitable – and it showed in their music.**

Two years later, and Raph – who’s since gone back to cavorting around with Alexander Cowan as **Blue Hawaii** – is stammering out the chorus of _Untogether_’s second track ‘Try To Be’: “may as well just be me”, with a genuine hint of self-doubt in her voice. A lot can change in two years, apparently, and it doesn’t take much of a critical listen to hear that this is no longer the sexually liberated, girlish Braids vocalist of 2011, but a woman struggling with an existence wherein she’s unsure of both herself and the world around her. Whether looking back at her life’s errors on lead single ‘In Two’, pleading for a lover to “let me know I’m yours to keep”, or trying to confirm her own identity on ‘Try To Be’, the passion Standell-Preston wrote into every song on **Braids**’ debut has made way for something more anxious, more reserved and far more closely considered.

Admittedly, **Blue Hawaii** have always been careful composers – often dismantling and repairing and replacing entire songs until they were satisfactory- but _Untogether_ showcases an attention to detail only hinted at on their 2010 debut. Tracks like ‘Sierra Lift’ and ‘Follow’, filled with sounds that have been tweaked and looped and chewed up to sheer brilliance, are quite precariously balanced, managing to echo the sort of R&B rhythms that **Purity Ring** relied on throughout last year’s _Shrines_ (though with not anywhere near as much swagger), layering up clicks, whirs and swelling synthesisers, and even distorting each fragment of Standell-Preston’s vocal line to its glitchy, swooning best.

In fact, the way in which Standell-Preston has learned to use her voice as an instrumental tool is what really marks _Untogether_ as a true progression from anything previously done by **Blue Hawaii** or **Braids**. Before, her vocals were theatrical, pitchy and breath-taking – often dominating entire tracks with their sheer range – whereas now they’re being deployed in a more circumspect manner, and the result is a collection of tracks that evolve through various phases of sound and gentle leans of emotion without needing to pander to Raph’s elastic vocal chords.

It’s true that, compared to debut _Blooming Summer_, joy is not something found easily on _Untogether_, and maybe the downplaying of Standell-Preston’s vocals has indeed contributed to this shift in focus. But **Blue Hawaii** have never been a pessimistic band, and Cowan’s ambient, often agile production is anything but downbeat. Even when Raph’s vocals are at their most forlorn and weighed down with regret (on ‘In Two’) and even when the album is at its most brooding instrumentally (the urban drone of ‘Sweet Tooth’s coda), every track manages to plot itself somewhere in the grey area between hope and uncertainty, rarely letting either dominate.

Yes, at its worst, _Untogether_ can be sterile at times – especially during some of the longer instrumental sections – and it’s easy to lose interest if you aren’t immediately drawn in to these odd little modern lullabies. But tracks like album closer ‘The Other Day’ see **Blue Hawaii** at their most uplifting, with production that sparkles like cold spring sunlight, and vocals that are sung with real elation: “don’t give up now/ there’s so much time”. The last human sound we hear on _Untogether_ is a yawn. It’s a cute, contended sound, and hints that maybe, at last, respite has finally come to the woman who was, only five tracks earlier on ‘Sierra Lift’, singing: “I just wanna go to sleep”. Somehow it feels like she deserves it.#

**Similar To**: Braids, Southern Shores

**MP3**: ‘Sierra Lift’, ‘The Other Day’