Arcade Fire squanders a chance for reflection on two counts. Their desire to improve on previous album, WE, is a more concerted attempt to reconnect with the sound that helped them define a decade, and a chance to exorcise controversies and allegations. Arcade Fire knows this is the two-pronged purpose of Pink Elephant, their seventh studio album, yet they fall well short of anything which could be considered artistic or personal growth. From anthems which are still benchmarks of the American art-rock scene and Joaquin Phoenix movie soundtracks, to chasing a pastiche, not even achieving the satisfying-yet-shallow imitation they set out to create. To focus on just the music means accepting Arcade Fire has, at the very least, lost a step. Instrumental messiness, a clawing demand of belonging in the mainstream once more, it all feels faux, performative, and weak.
Opening instrumental Open Your Heart or Die Trying is a telling title, but amounts to nothing more than a song fit for mid-2010s science-fiction movie trailer slop. Whining tones, a sense that the band became obsessed with the word “ethereal” yet found no new message. They are as hollow as the candle on the front of their album, melting away to reveal nothing at all. The title track feels horrendously flat, Win Butler’s vocal work a crackling mess as he asks listeners to avoid the elephant in the room, to focus on the music. When the music is so closely tied to the last few years, an active choice from Butler and the band rather than some push to tie the two together, it is difficult to “take your mind off” the frontman, especially when the performance he gives is below par. Sluggish at the best of times, but the slower tempo, the “change and strange” of Year of the Snake, tries to hammer into place a new direction for Arcade Fire.
Their indietronica style still has some life to it, but those moments of instrumental inspiration are paired with Butler’s desire to be seen as a martyr. Circle of Trust has Butler compared not just to the fabled Icarus but a man who can heal the crowd with his music in this eponymous shape of faith. It feels gross, dirty even, and from that Christ-like image to the Alien Nation blowout, which once more sounds tame and reserved even if it tries to lose itself in sound, the desire for salvation without ever broaching the subject properly is heard. Pink Elephant would be weak without those moments, but Butler’s writing takes dive after dive throughout this latest album. A soft reset following their previous album, a soft reset of their sound. For a man who claims to have been visited by the ghost of David Bowie, he does not appear to have learned anything from this phantom appearance.
A sliver of hope can be heard on Ride or Die, though with its dated phrase of loyalty, it feels embarrassing to suggest it is the best moment of the album. It strips Arcade Fire of their usual image, of the expectation. That does not make the writing any better, but the softer touch, the sincerity which comes from the backing vocals Régine Chassagne provides, is a sweet albeit forgettable moment. It is a moment which does not suggest further quality or revamp the preceding, flatlining songs. At a time when a statement of intent, a roaring return to form or a complete reboot of their sound was necessary, it is peculiar to hear Arcade Fire opt for slack, simple-sounding songs. They do not redefine themselves, nor do they provide a reason to keep listening. Pink Elephant is not the end of the road; the band has been driving across unpaved, abandoned tracks for some time now. This is another flat tyre along the way, the band aimlessly driving on without the conviction, heart or influence they once had.
