Braids
were just entering their twenties when they released their acclaimed 2011 debut,
Native Speaker
, an album that seemed to glow with the discovery and experimentation of that age. They exit that time in their lives with
Shadow Offering
, a set of Saturn return songs that are just as expressive in how they reflect having some aspects of life figured out, while others feel infinitely more complicated -- or, as
Raphaelle Standell-Preston
puts it, "At the age of 27/Questioning that the universe doesn't trust in me." She and the rest of
spend much of
looking at heartache and disappointment with more grown-up eyes. "Young Buck" is one of the most appealing tracks here, with skipping beats and swooning synths that capture the thrill of lust at first sight, but
Standell-Preston
soon realizes there's not much else than attraction: "It's seeming so hard to ever be loved by you." She's even more frank on "Just Let Me," another standout that finds her exhausted from fighting as she sings "Where did our love go?" over uneasily prickling guitars. And when she tells her partner to "get your shit together" on "Fear of Men," she breaks free from an emotional labor imbalance with a defiant yelp and blasting power chords.
' music follows
's tougher, plainspoken lead on
. Working with
Death Cab for Cutie
's
Chris Walla
, they sound bigger and yet more down-to-earth than ever before. Instead of blanketing their songs in swaths of dreamy effects, as they did beautifully on
and
Deep in the Iris
, they offer their listeners a new, but just as meaningful, kind of intimacy with the album's clearly defined sounds. On "Here 4 U," it feels like
is singing directly into her audience's ears, even as the choruses swell to match the size and steadfastness of her devotion. There's a surprising heft to "Ashley," where massive guitar textures reach
Mogwai
-like proportions, and on the weighty distortion of "Upheaval ii," which echoes the rawness of
's vocals.
push themselves even further on "Snow Angel," a nine-minute torrent of guilt, frustration, awareness, and sadness that viscerally expresses the overwhelming scope of the issues of the 2020s, whether it's a dying house plant or a dying planet. As the song builds and recedes from the furious spoken-word monologue that makes up its heart, it feels like the kind of major statement that
are ready to deliver. In its own way, the song that follows it, "Ocean," may be even more mature in its philosophical acceptance of a relationship's natural ebb and flow. A sadder, wiser, and stronger album,
reflects big changes in
' world, but proves they're still at their finest when they dig into -- and sit with -- complex emotions. ~ Heather Phares