Figured I should take advantage of the day off and pop in with a few recs based on recent releases — one for each day of our long weekend! First up is one I’ve been wrestling with the past few weeks — and one I initially started to writeup for the Gram, but apparently had more to say about it than I’m allowed to convey there — the latest from Arcade Fire, WE. It’s their sixth album (their first since 2017’s Everything Now) and it finds the band continuing the synth pop disco vibe of that divisive album. (I actually mostly liked that one, as evidenced by it landing at #10 on that year’s list, though it did have some off-putting parts, which we will explore shortly.)
That one polarized people not only with its continued departure from the band’s traditional (some might say “classic”) sound (they’d first started jettisoning it on 2013’s James Murphy-produced Reflektor), but also with its over the top presentation where the band was the symbol of (and controlled by) a fictional corporate monolith (the same one sharing the album’s title). It fed into this big social media campaign, crept into their performances on TV and at shows, and even fueled a bunch of merch. It was emblematic of recent day Arcade Fire where they’re a little too far up their own asses (or getting high on their own supply to quote a lyric off this one), trying too hard to be meaningful or deep or funny. And that bloated sense of self-importance plagues this album, too, offering us a nine song space opera of sorts (all but the title song and throwaway “Prelude” come as part of a numbered song suite) where the pretentious titles and subject matter do battle with flashes of what made this band so great — simple, sincere thoughts that connect and build to anthemic, heart-busting breaks.
This time frontman Win Butler is singing about the end of the American empire with its commodified corporate hegemony and materialistic obsessions (the same ones the band “satirized” (some might say wholeheartedly embraced) on the last album), doing his best Ziggy Stardust impression as he “unsubscribes” from it all. There’s lost souls and plastic souls, mazes and labyrinths, abysses and apocalypses, all surrounded by searing glows and burning towns. The thematic material leads to a more dour overall sound, but there are a few moments of exhilaration that punch through the darkness and remind you of the old band’s power. Tracks like “Age of Anxiety II (Rabbit Hole)” and “The Lightning II” are bright, uptempo affairs (lyrical content aside) and already seem to work well live. (They played both of them at the band’s surprise Coachella set a few weeks back.)
Part of the reason they connect is because they also contain some of the simple, honest lyrics of old that make you want to sing them out loud with a crowd of festival-goers. “Lightning’s” first part sings about not quitting on a loved one while “Anxiety’s” prelude sings of wanting to be seen in the titular age, two encouraging, relatable admissions these days. The best example — and the one that got me to go back to the album after dismissing it after a few listens — is “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid).” It finds Butler singing to a kid (perhaps his own) about how to live, embracing skinned knees and mistakes to learn and live life to its fullest. Simple and straightforward (and true), but the song’s bridge is what really hooked me, giving a taste of the chest-filling thrills of their old classics. It’s nothing fancy, just Butler telling that child he’ll give them “everything that’s mine” — his heart, soul, and precious time, but it hits really hard because it’s completely stripped of all the bombast and artifice that encrusts so much of their other recent material. (Singing to/about a black hole and prospectively naming a child after it, for example, as on “End of the Empire IV (Sagittarius A*),” which coincidentally doubles as the working title of an upcoming Star Wars flick.)
Far too often lately Butler buries little nuggets like this beneath all the other nonsense, almost like he’s jarred by the naked honesty and quickly trying to distract from it or cover it up. It’s a self-defeating defense mechanism that prevents you from fully embracing the songs (on this and the previous albums). Besides black hole baby names there’s references to being “born in paradise beneath a poisoned sky” or stuck in a rut in the Age of Anxiety (“a maze of mirrors…a hologram of a ghost”), which are slightly overblown eyerollers that almost seem designed to keep you at arm’s length. Even lines about how he didn’t used to get high or drink as on “Empire’s” first three parts come across as self-important humble brags, rather than relatable, natural admissions for how trying things have been the last two/six/ten years and what folks have done to cope with them. It’s an avoidable annoyance and one that forces you to qualify every statement/thought you have about them. “I like this song, but…” “I liked that album, but…” “I like the band, but…”
It’s an exercise Kanye fans have been forced to practice over the years (with increasing difficulty the past few), but applies here as well. There are plenty of good lines, hooks, and melodies to be found here, but in doing so you also have to contend with an equal amount of exasperating sighs. (I didn’t even mention the collab with Peter Gabriel yet, “Unconditional II (Race and Religion),” whose title alone lets you know you’re in for a hearty helping of sanctimonious judgment.) Just one of many instances that make you long for the unadorned sincerity so often in evidence on their first three albums. Good enough to give some spins, though. At least a few of these songs will rightly end up as setlist mainstays — check out one of em (the one that got me to come back):
We’ll close with a couple reads about another pair of albums that’ve been in heavy rotation recently — the latest Keys album and the debut from the latest Thom Yorke side project, The Smile. The former gets discussed in this article from Stereogum, which does a really nice job recapping all of Keys frontman Dan Auerbach’s side projects, in addition to his official outings as part of the Keys. As they discuss in the interview, this album captures the laidback vibe of last year’s Delta Kream (which landed at number #12 on that year end list), but does so this time with original songs — some of which aren’t even written by Auerbach. (Another change from previous outings.)
The spirit of collaboration and comfortable, well-worn grooves are everywhere on the album — to the point that on first listen it almost sounds like the band is simply regurgitating riffs or beats from some of their earlier songs. On subsequent listens, though, you recognize the subtle differences and embrace the echoes of the past, almost as reinterpretations of familiar faves vs straight up copies. At this point in their career it’s almost inevitable they’d start sounding like themselves — there’s only so much you can do as a bluesy twosome singing about lovin’ and losin’ — which is the downside of staying true to what you do. You can opt to explore new sonic or lyrical terrain as the aforementioned Arcade have done, or you can stay close to home and run the risk of repeating yourself.
Both have their merits, but for me I feel the latter tends to often be more sincere and thus resonate more strongly — you may be adding new elements or trying new things out, but you’re doing so under the umbrella of what works best for you — adding a non-plaid shirt to your wardrobe, for example, or sandals without buckles vs dying your hair purple and wearing leather head to toe. As a result, I’ve been loving this album — even the idiotic pep rally song “Team is Looking Good” has won me over with its delicious riff (guaranteed to show up in sporting events and/or commercials). My current fave is this one (though “Good Love” sporting the legendary Billy Gibbons is a close second) — “Burn the Damn Thing Down.” Give it a listen here:
Last up is another writeup from the Gum on the debut album from the Smile, which is 2/5 of Radiohead (frontman Thom Yorke and guitarist Jonny Greenwood) and 1/4 of Sons of Kemet (drummer Tom Skinner), a fractional formula that has yielded a heck of an album. (One that makes me a little nervous/curious about the fate of the former band, as the article’s author notes/shares.) Yorke is known to be restless (as with the aforementioned Auerbach, he’s had a number of solo and side projects over the years), but what’s different and a little unnerving this time is Greenwood’s presence. Those other projects were easy to write off as artistic explorations and one offs — they were tied to movies (Suspiria, Anima, Motherless Brooklyn) or were made with people in other long-running bands (Flea for Atoms for Peace, for example) — so you knew they weren’t going to be sustained affairs.
This, on the other hand, sounds a LOT like a Radiohead record — aside from Yorke’s signature voice and Greenwood’s iconic guitar sounds, Skinner’s syncopated drumming sounds a lot like Phil Selway’s syncopated drumming. The album was even produced by long-time Radiohead helmsman Nigel Godrich, all of which begs the question, “If you’re going to make an album that sounds so similar to Radiohead and uses several of the key pieces from said band, why not use all of them?” It’s a bit like breaking off a long relationship and starting to date someone with the same hair color, clothing, and physique as your ex. This will invariably lead to speculation/concern over creative tensions and the fate of the band, but hopefully it’s just a momentary diversion (albeit a very good one) and we’ll get more from both in the coming years.
There’s a bunch of good songs on here — “The Opposite” and “Thin Thing” sound like lost Radiohead rarities, while “Speech Bubbles” and “Free in the Knowledge” are dreamy, piano-driven pieces that lull you into a fugue. (It’s a heck of a headphone album, too, FWIW.) My current fave is the hypnotic groover, “The Storm” — check it out here:
That’s all for now — hope everyone had a nice long weekend (and short week to come!) Until next time, amici…
–BS