I somehow managed to listen to this album once earlier in the year without recalling a single note of what it sounded like. I'm not sure what excuse I have for that, maybe distraction or hasty judgment. Luckily, when a chance encounter with an earlier Braids song led me to give the album a second chance, I loved every note of it. Braids started out as an exuberantly experimental art rock band whose music, for better or worse, was a little all over the place. On Deep in the Iris, their third full-length release, the band refines their sound to its most crystalline form, losing some of their more abrasive qualities for an expansive and hazy dream pop style. However, they retain personality in spades, thanks to Raphaelle Standell-Preston's idiosyncratic vocals and unapologetically confrontational lyrics. A surface-level loveliness masks a dark, politically-charged undercurrent - there's far more to unravel and dissect in this album than it may initially seem.

The light, buoyant atmosphere of Deep in the Iris easily draws you in and lulls you into a dreamy calm. The abundance of hooks is heightened by a smoothly flowing and bubbling electronic backdrop, enriched by vibrant piano, spacey guitar, and driving percussion. Although pop at their core, these songs are far from conventional or straightforward. Some tracks explode from minimalistic beginnings to a complexly textured constellation of sounds that seems galactic in its reach ("Happy When," "Warm Like Summer"). Others shake up the traditional verse-chorus structure by segueing unexpectedly into extended instrumental breaks or new vocal melodies ("Letting Go"), while others eschew such formulaic trappings altogether, preferring a more organic and loose approach ("Miniskirt"). Throughout them all, Standell-Preston's voice alternates between an ethereal croon and a passionate, full-bodied belt. It bends and twists - both digitally and naturally - right alongside the music, seamlessly integrating itself into the intricate weave.

As beautiful and soothing as the album sounds, the lyrics, once noticed, are surprisingly smart and assertive. Standell-Preston is confident in her voice and uses it to bring light to important issues that affect not only her but all women. In songs like "Happy When" and "Getting Tired," she sings candidly about struggles with depression ("It is winter now, I must prepare for all I cannot bear/Myself, my mind"), and "Sore Eyes" raises questions about the false and unattainable expectations created by watching pornography ("The girls with balloons and the men with batons, shoving it hard"). She also presents honest portrayals of sexual abuse, both at the hands of a manipulative lover (in "Taste," "Take me by the throat/And will you push me up against this wall/And spit all your hurt on me/So I can feel my reach?") and a pedophilic predator (in "Blondie," "Touch me so young, make it seem fun, take everything, you don't care").

The most important and emphatic message comes in "Miniskirt," which is split into two separate but related narratives. The first is told from the point of view of a young woman who has been objectified, sexualized, and antagonized for both her choice of attire ("It's like I'm wearing red, and if I am/You feel you've the right to touch me/Because I asked for it") and her sexual desire ("In my position/I'm the slut/I'm the bitch/I'm the whore/The one you hate"). Sadly relatable, Standell-Preston's no-holds-barred commentary and her snarling delivery tell the listener exactly what she thinks of such double standards. In the second half of the song, she relates a more personal story about a sexually-abusive stepfather and the impact of his actions on the family: "My mother's soul he devours with a grin/And when she finds out/The child he has taken/Confronts him and stakes him and breaks him/All our boxes on the lawn/Woman shelter for nine months/Cross the street to the church/Pray confusedly about what hurts." It's as brutal to listen to as it is to see on the page, without any of the trappings of prettiness that disguise the other songs. But it's also a revelatory, necessary moment on an album that isn't afraid to go deep.