James Arthur – Pisces Review

After the shallow emotional offering on the previous album, the only way is up for James Arthur. Or at least, listeners should hope so. Pisces bores deeper into the core of radio slop. An emotional hook, some catchy, ill-considered beat and the suggestion of relatability for those without their own experiences. Live your life through Arthur, then, who offers up not an intimate detail of what inspires him but a gauntlet of ready-made, microwaveable-like songs. Searching for Pisces on Spotify brought up nothing, just a George Harrison song from his posthumous album. The jig was up, for Mr. Arthur? A delay in release? It was not to be. A call to the local record store punctures this prayer, and they assured me that Pisces was, indeed, available to the public. We should not shame those for listening to Arthur, we should shun them.  

Softly developed, plain sailing sounds to stink out a room and ruin the mood of those who can think for themselves. Pisces is a collection of meandering inevitabilities. But pause for a moment, is that the new sound for Arthur? A sense of change on the opening song, Summer, would suggest a fresh tone, a chance to explore the darker side of pop-friendly music, which, by this point, has been mapped and charted by better writers. Arthur picks through the leftovers of vulture-strewn topics, the sort of writing and emotional displays already made, competently so, elsewhere. Where a band and brand are crossovers now, the achingly strange fields of Newcastle United shirts in London-based shows are a drop in the ocean of performative cosplay; rarely does an artist believe in their vision. Pisces offers a vast change from the preceding album Bitter Sweet Love because the suits believe it is the right call. Arthur plays the role well, but there is not a second of Pisces which feels genuine.  

You would be forgiven for thinking Summer is calling himself the “sound of the summer,” as though Daft Punk would ever lose their place on the pedestal. Moments of falling into and out of love, are inevitable. It does not take long for Arthur to repeat his soppy, sloppy sound. Cruel is a tough listen, though the clue is in the title. His introspection scattered across the songs may feel genuine, but the music which underscores it does not, and that is what deflates Pisces. All My Love is as plain and obvious as it gets, a painful lack of nuance which is sunk further by the unlikeable factor which crops up in his lyrical choices. ADHD has the “black heart,” the rebellious lover not as someone with a brooding past but as someone still tied to their ex and uncommitted at the best of times. This is not fascinating, it just boorish.  

Fickle at the best of times, Pisces is a materialistic mess. Embers is a carbon copy of the songs preceding it. The songs to follow are not much better, either. Moments which highlight the shortcomings of love and the regret which feeds its way in, for no good reason. All the pop generalities with which Arthur is so closely tied, but once more the lack of warmth heard in his music is startling. Underwhelming, too. There is a miserable underscore to Pisces which comes from playing to the broadest demographic possible. Even the answering machine messages on Karaoke, genuine their intention may be, feel manufactured. Tailor-made to pull at the heartstrings, because remembering your own experiences through buzzwords issued by Arthur is much easier than The X Factor winner having anything to say. We relate not to experiences but to words which trigger a reaction. A successful system for Arthur, and no matter how different his instrumental taste is here, Pisces remains underwhelming at best.