Arcade Fire. Photo:
Danny Clinch
Over the years, few bands have been able to do quotidian grandeur as well as Arcade Fire. A relatability factor propels even their feistiest odes, from 2007’s incantatory “No Cars Go” to 2013’s resplendent “Awful Sound (Oh Eurydice),” and that quality has helped them manage the art-commerce quandary about as well as anyone this side of Radiohead. Can a restive dirge (2004’s erratic fist-raiser “Wake Up”) sell a Spike Jonze movie about a wolf-suited lad to shit-tons of Super Bowl viewers? Why, yes, say these earnest Canadians, who proved their heart was in the right place by distributing the loot they got from that payday to Haitian earthquake victims.
Recently, though, that sense of relatability has taken a serious hit. The band’s last album, 2022’s We, which reached Number Six on the Billboard 200 chart, got them on SNL, where frontman Win Butler mentioned “a woman’s right to choose” months before multiple women accused him of sexual misconduct. Their new freebie offering, “Cars and Telephones,” which the group shared on its Circle of Friends app in April, is the first “new” material from Arcade Fire since those squirmy accusations. While “Cars and Telephones” isn’t even on their new album, Pink Elephant (the song is a decades-old demo, repurposed for the social media age), it’s a conspicuous harbinger, giving the impression of a tenacious band looking to recenter itself around core principles. On Pink Elephant‘s lead single, “Year of the Snake,” Butler and wife/co-leader Régine Chassagne — twee and homey on the tight chorus — sing about a “season of change.” The album itself offers quaint harmonies and big beats, á la We, set atop the bossy stomp of 2013’s Reflektor. While Pink Elephant‘s 10 songs don’t come close to Reflektor’s magisterial range, it’s often sweet, enticing, and direct — a cathartic manifesto in miniature.
“So do what is true/Don’t do what you should,” quivers Butler on “Year of the Snake.” His cow-town warble settles into something like a bark over Jeremy Gara’s raucous drums, giving the Texas-born singer’s ideas about maturing amicably the heft of an edict. Co-producer Daniel Lanois‘ close-knit sound lends the record an intimate atmosphere — leaner and more quietly urgent than other Arcade Fire LPs. That soft-focus oomph imbues Chassagne’s rejoinder, “It’s the time of the season/When you think about leaving,” with a serene sense of selflessness.
Similarly trained on matters of the heart, the title cut is brutal and haunting, expressing a sincere “alone together” ambiance: “You’re always nervous with the real thing/Mind is changing like a mood ring,” Butler groans in a line could serve as a thesis statement for the LP. “Circle of Trust,” with its penetrating Euro-bounce, paints a calm picture of a couple dancing the night away while “the archangel Michael” watches from afar with intentions to “die for your love/Write your name in the fire in the sky for your love.” The pulsing bass line and modish Pet Shop Boys intonation — enriched by Chassagne’s pert coo — make this Arcade Fire’s most hypnotic dance ditty since 2017’s slept-on “Electric Blue.”
Not every musical turn is successful. Despite its propulsive sonics (think Nine Inch Nails meets the Bomb Squad), the industrial missive, “Alien Nation,” is a letdown, tortured by lyrics that come off at once vague and dogmatic (something about laser beams and weird vibrations). Ditto for “Stuck in My Head,” whose heart-thrashing chords are all but vitiated by a sad-sack, repetitive refrain that fails to embellish the grief Butler sings about. But the gorgeous “Ride or Die” registers more than enough emotive force, with pastoral guitars recalling early AF classics like “Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles).” It makes way for the moving “I Love Her Shadow,” where Butler, over insatiable percussion, proclaims his love for someone who “broke me with the hammer.” Mapping regrets and linking desires, Pink Elephant is a striking image of togetherness.
From Rolling Stone US.