ALBUM REVIEW: Arcade Fire - Pink Elephant
The Canadian legends' most inessential release to date.
Early on Pink Elephant, Win Butler sums things up pretty well. “Don’t think about Pink Elephant” he croons on the title track, and I can’t help but think that was a warning. Allegations of sexual misconduct have hung over Butler’s life since 2022, and they hang over the entirety of Arcade Fire’s 7th album. Just look at song titles like “Beyond Salvation” and tell me they’re not reactionary to this personal turmoil. But it’s all a half-measure; there’s a tail-between-the-legs feeling to that title track, like Butler and company don’t want to respond but feel forced to. It leads to an album that claims to be personal but still pushes the listener away, lazily treading water instead of diving deep into anything interesting. The experienced is worsened by an overall sound that comes across as a cheap imitation of Arcade Fire’s iconic style. They’ve gotten so far away from what made them great to begin with; how can one get so lost in a castle they constructed themselves?
Whereas the band once set the standard for indie rock, Arcade Fire find themselves stuck in the mud. There’s nary an original thought or idea to the record’s sound; too often they’re copying the sound of bands that used to copy them. “Pink Elephant” could be a leftover from an Interpol record, only with a sour pace and none of that band’s early swagger. “Alien Nation” wants to have that dance-punk sound of early 2000’s DFA projects, but the simplistic rhythm and banal rhymes hold the song back. When the album does get close to the heights of the band’s past, they sound like cheap imitations. “Year of the Snake” has the sort of harmonies from Butler and Régine Chassagne that have worked forever, but its sluggish melody prevents any potential the song might have from twinkling. Even “I Love Her Shadow”, the liveliest song here, is bogged down with clunky synths that the grind any momentum to a halt.
Noticing a theme here? The majority of Pink Elephant languishes in half-baked repetition. No song has much of a peak to speak of; these songs sleepwalk through their overlong runtimes before dully fading into the next track. “Circle of Trust” is truly lifeless, a monotonous cycle of synths and vocals that try as little as possible to leave an impact. This is as boring as the band has ever sounded; even the misguided political commentary of Everything Now had some sonic kick to it (outside of Butler’s rap debut). When three of the album’s ten songs are instrumentals (synth numbers that M83 would make on a bad day), it puts the low quality of the vocal tracks in the spotlight. Butler sounds exhausted here; when he’s not making vague statements around his legal issues, his lyrics about love, loss and trust pale in comparison to what he’s written before. When he finally shows some life at the end of closer “Stuck in my Head” it’s too little, too late.
Reckoning with a legend’s demise is never a fun thing. To become this inessential, though, is just downright sad. You could call it karma for Butler’s misgivings, or you could call it a misguided attempt by an elder statesman to stay relevant. Has the band misjudged how their legendary status isn’t enough for a competent record? However you sling it, there’s no mistaking Pink Elephant as Arcade Fire’s worst album by far. The orchestral magnificence and the disco grooves the band thrived on are long gone, replaced with an indifference that makes this experience downright dreadful. I’ll take the title track’s prophetic words to heart; don’t think about Pink Elephant. For the love of God, don’t think about Pink Elephant.
Verdict: 3.8/10
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