On paper, the sentiments that typify Young Galaxy’s fourth album Ultramarine are about as complex and challenging as a breezy, 80 degree day in late April: “I don’t care if the disbelievers don’t understand, you’re my pretty boy always.” “When you a need a guide, I’ll light your way/ The beat is yours so let it play.” “Feels like a dream tonight/ A little break in time as we howl at the moon.” When sung by Catherine McCandless in the context of the Montreal quintet’s fluorescent synths and Balearic rhythms, they become no more complex or challenging. But the arrival of spring isn't a guilty pleasure, nor is it high art; which makes Ultramarine's timing extremely fortuitous, at it's every bit as enjoyable because of its satisfying, innocent immediacy, not in spite of it.
Young Galaxy’s starburst electro-pop can seem awfully naïve: After tapping Studio’s Dan Lissvik to produce their third album, a major transition from the wan, post-Broken Social Scene electrogaze of their debut to slick sophisti-pop, they actually called the results Shapeshifting. At its best, *Ultramarine'*s intentions are just as overtly pop and candid, most powerfully demonstrated by the astonishing “Pretty Boy”, a song which hits its mark with such truth and utter lack of guile, it’s hard to believe it hasn’t been around for decades. From McCandless’ first lyric (“When we were lost/ We found each other/ And headed sightless for the city”), you’re picturing a classic us-vs.-them romantic archetype, something most bands would to be too self-conscious to even consider. Yet while McCandless’ words remain economical throughout, they hint at an underlying reality in the verses that feels devastating (“I felt no pain when you changed your name/ We were each other’s only family”) until it’s overpowered by the reassurance of the chorus (“I know you feel isolated/ And I feel what you won’t say”).
It’s a song powered by emotional dynamism as decimating as any soft-loud chorus explosion, breaking your heart before melting it back into something solid and functioning. The music complies, as its star-crossed narrators are either protected or quarantined from anyone besides each other. Lissvik’s production is clean without being clinical, detailed without clutter-- a pinging New Order arpeggio cycles along while shakers, assorted blips, and harmonies wheel upward, giving the sonic field of “Pretty Boy” a three-dimensional, all-encompassing immersion.
You can’t blame Young Galaxy for leading off with such a monumental song, yet putting it first might feel like a misstep; surely, they’d want to build to this kind of emotional peak. Fortunately, the next two are strong enough to withstand the impact of “Pretty Boy”, and for about 12 minutes, Ultramarine is astounding in its execution. Both “Fall For You” and “New Summer” offer different moods than “Pretty Boy”-- the former is Bo Diddley-beat reframed as irrepressibly sunny Swedish reggae, while the latter slowly aspires to M83’s interstellar overdrive. Like "Pretty Boy", they introduce the stakes in urgent, Springsteen-ian terms (“I work the mines ‘til the break of dawn,” “Meet me by the river, let’s go for a ride with the windows down and the stereo loud”) and use the hooks to offer escapism that feels redemptive even if it isn’t the least bit believable. Hurry up, we’re dreaming, you know?
It’s no slight to say nothing on Ultramarine matches its opening triad-- not much does. The remainder of it is solid, though it shows a band still using established pop framework in lieu of a personality. To that end, it makes sense that Stephen Ramsay would cede full control of lead vocals to McCandless, solidifying their identity and giving Young Galaxy a true frontperson on their breakthrough album. But while McCandless is a capable vocalist, she’s not a commanding one and it leaves Young Galaxy unable to truly deliver the goods on dancefloor diva-oriented material. McCandless is confident enough to smolder on “In Fire” and “Fever”, though attitude or grit would set them ablaze. When she tries to infuse boldness through her lyrics, it only stresses her brittle tone-- “I don’t need authenticity/ To make me more like me” sounds like a self-help recitation rather than a firm belief during the generic glam shuffle “What We Want”, while “Hard To Tell” spends its entire four minutes recovering from McCandless declaring “for you, I am a gangster,” one of the points where you wish Young Galaxy had some kind of ironic capacity.
But those are ultimately quibbles that prevent Ultramarine from being a truly great record rather than one of 2013’s stronger pop albums. The back half still hits squarely, if not as hard as the beginning: the gooey gumdrop “Sleepwalk With Me” is a strong closing argument for "synth-pop sweethearts" as Young Galaxy’s best incarnation, and while the kids at Coachella weren’t feeling the Stone Roses, “Out the Gate Backwards” utilizes the powerfully nostalgic sound of bar room piano loops, glassy guitar delay, and plasticine bongos to prove Madchester can still twist melons. That a burgeoning remix community has sprung up around “Pretty Boy” and “New Summer” without drastically changing the underlying material can just serve as further proof that Ultramarine is strong enough to withstand whatever way you choose to enjoy it, whether it’s shuffling the top-heavy sequencing or just playing “Pretty Boy” on repeat to your heart’s content. It’s generous like that.
