One of the first things you’ll notice here is the effortlessly lithe metamorphosis which the Canadians have undergone since 2009′s Polaris Prize nominated Invisible Republic. This certainly isn’t to say they’re unrecognisable; the slow burning romanticism which inspired both that album and their self-titled debut is still here in abundance but it’s shielded by a more aloof and strutting tone, quite rarely does their bruised world-weary vulnerability shine through as brightly as it once did. This is largely down to the significant influence of Dan Lissvik, one half of Swedish duo Studio, on production duties. After recording the album the band handed over complete control to Lissvik, e-mailing the tracks to him and then waiting nine months for him to do with them whatever he saw fit.

The final results pair the trademark humid sparsity of Lissvik’s solo work with the band’s protracted lush shoegaze to stunning effect. These more spacious arrangements lend themselves to slow, gesticulating rhythms which expose a sexuality you just wouldn’t have associated with the band before. Suddenly Catherine McCandless’ vocals are svelte rather than sensitive, gliding gently over sun drenched tropical synth lines and squelching bass there’s an air of repressed passion which permeates the record. You might not know it to listen to the lyrical content mind you which is often lackadaisical as ever but still emits a more up-beat attitude than before, whilst McCandless might plead lines like “Oh spare me today / I’ve had enough of the hurry hurry / just let the day rise easy” on ‘We Have Everything’ it’s done so with the backing of sprawling skyward reaching riffs and cascading major key synths. The whole way through there is this sense of positive energy coursing through the songs, that they’re really striving to break out of the shell of melancholy reflection they had cocooned themselves in previously.

In fact it’s clear that the band have been completely enamoured by the whole idea of reinvention, consistently referring to notions of transformation throughout. Even within the record’s eleven tracks, which hang together with effortless cohesion, they try on several different guises. ‘For Dear Life’ is packed with haunting underlying keys and sinister sound effects which causes it to rattle with an uneasiness indicative of their morphing sound. The title track then revels in extended instrumental passages of arid, middle-eastern folk influenced textures almost so much as to end the album on an even more uncharacteristic note; pleading the question of what on earth might be coming next. It’s not all esoteric instrumental passages and minimal arrangements though, there is an unashamedly big eighties sound at various points, perhaps most notably so with the driving synth-pop sound of ‘B.S.E’ or the vocal effects on ‘Shapeshifting’. It is still when they don their pop hats that Young Galaxy are at their most arresting, and ‘Peripheral Visionaries’ probably stands as the highlight with the trading boy-girl vocals allowing Stephen Ramsay’s sombre tone to offer a more grounded counterpoint to the saccharine harmonies and glossy guitars.

Some might have doubted how wise a decision it was for them to part with the fairly influential Arts & Crafts label following their debut but it would seem now to have been a shrewd move which has stoked their creativity. If Invisible Republic was their cautious steadying footsteps away from that nest of youth then this is the sound of their roots beginning to blossom, of a galaxy evolving freely in to it’s own beast. As McCandless states on the penultimate track, “You and I, we mutate and survive”. Far from simply surviving though, Young Galaxy are thriving with their new found dexterity and look poised to continue pushing themselves toward bigger and better things.