IN REVIEW: Arcade Fire - "Everything Now"

It's hard to go into Arcade Fire's fifth album without a mind toward all the noise surrounding it, whether pre- or post-release; a multi-faceted, relentless social marketing campaign (with emphasis on "marketing") leading up to the album's arrival gave way to lukewarm reactions to the music itself, which puts me in kind of a weird position giving this album another go nearly a week after its release. In a way, I've been pre-conditioned by the band to ignore its commercial trappings of the record because they've made such a huge, elaborate joke out of selling out; in another way, I've been set up to hate it by my peers, fellow fans and critics who were more than ready to eviscerate Arcade Fire's first major label release.

So, with these factors as far out of mind as possible, I slapped the headphones on one more time to form as close to an informed personal opinion as I can glean from Everything Now. The thing is, as I listen I can't help but think that both the band and the dissenting voices are right about it; yes, the silly campaign does deflect some of the criticism leveled at Arcade Fire for signing to Columbia. Why not blow it ridiculously out of proportion before those holier-than-thou hipsters get their fingers all aflutter online? Hell, why not go all in on the concept, with $100 fidget spinners, jumpsuits and energy drinks? Throw as much noise into the void as it can stand, and then throw a little more. Get out in front of the haters, admit to the sellout and challenge the dissenters by asking, "Do you want to find out what selling out really looks like?".

You know, the whole cockamamie experiment may have paid off were the album more interesting, but some of those naysayers have valid points, too; this is Arcade Fire at its most vapid and, intentional or not, there's precious little that remains of the band that used to paint their records with grand statements and lush sonic tapestries. It's a continuation of the dance band metamorphosis that started on Reflektor, with a few tricks tossed in in an attempt to keep things interesting or, at the very least, give the impression of progression.

Let's back it up, though, because there is some merit to what's going on here; the title track might sound like a contrived attempt at ABBA, but it's mostly effective. Creature Comfort, my clear choice for album highlight, is as stark a reminder as any of the majesty this band is capable of pulling out of their hats. As for the album's underlying themes of commercialism and objectification, it's a subject that warrants some inspection and could have resulted in a decent case study had the message not been drowned out by a slew of fake brands and a storm of sponsored tweets.

At the root, Everything Now's biggest detriment is its show to substance ratio; after a pair of albums that both stretched out into heavy concepts and hour-plus run times, this album has a very hard time filling up its 47 minutes. The title track is spread out over three tracks, two acting as the album's seamless outro/intro; Infinite Content, a short and uninspired punk number, is immediately followed by Infinite_Content, which appropriates the exact same uninspired lyrics into an equally uninspired acoustic ballad because reasons. A cursory glance at the album's catalogue lyric sheet reveals that it's also Arcade Fire's most banal, repetitive record; plenty of repetition happens on this record, which isn't all that uncommon, but some tracks on this repetitive record feature a level of repetition that's irritating. Case in point is Put Your Money On Me, a song which (according to the sheet), repeats "put your money on me" or its cousin "all your money on me" only about thirty times, but I'm not listening to that six minutes again with a counter to verify.

It also doesn't help that Everything Now is home to some of Arcade Fire's most ill-conceived experiments; the rhythmic influences that brought forth Reflektor highlight Here Comes the Night Time are here again in the form of Peter Pan and Chemistry, two dumbed down reggae-tinged ditties (sequenced back to back for maximum impact) that make for quite possibly the most insufferable six and a half minutes Arcade Fire have put to tape to date.

The sum of these scattered parts is an album that's short but also short on ideas, critical of commercialism but happy to sell itself, and trite despite its presentation as a big, meaningful statement. Perhaps most tellingly, though. it's an album that plays very serious but is accompanied by a campaign that seems to urge not to take it so seriously, that we're all in on the same joke. The thing is, the joke isn't particularly funny, the product isn't particularly interesting, and the price of admission isn't particularly worth it.

July 28, 2017 • Sonovox/Columbia
Highlights Everything Now • Signs of Life • Creature Comfort