If there is one thing the music world could have counted on for 2013, it was that surely, at some point, eventually, Arcade Fire would release a new album. Since 2004’s insta-classic debut Funeral redefined the indie landscape with gusto and grandeur, few things have been more certain than a (roughly) three-year wait period between releases: 2007 gave birth to Neon Bible and 2010 was blessed with The Suburbs.
So when July rolled around and Arcade Fire decided to inform the world of an October 28th release date for their newest album via Twitter, I groaned with exasperation — “Yeezus Christ, it’s about time!” — rather than gasped with excitement. I’ve come to expect nothing short of greatness from arguably the best band of the 21st century, and the announcement felt sort of cheap yet ultimately inconsequential. Insignificant, even — that is, until the album’s meaning surfaces.
Thematically, Arcade Fire is no stranger to tackling darker topics than most modern rock bands. Death and loneliness, paranoia and crises of faith, internal degradation at the hands of stifling suburbia: not too uncommon, yet not the easiest to digest. Reflektor, however, takes on more ambitious influences of Greek mythology and existentialist philosophy to comment on the disconnect and isolation between contemporary human beings apparently brought about by society’s ‘reflectors,’ whatever those are. Win mostly laments about his inability to fully ‘get’ the depth and complexities of his opposite — either Eurydice or Joan of Arc, depending on the song — and not so much on the factors of life that invariably cause such distortions in perception and human understanding, as the album’s title would suggest. Thus resurfaces that peculiar decision to disclose the release date via Twitter all those months ago. They could not have missed the irony, could they? The irony of unveiling their treatise on interpersonal barriers and remoteness through one of the premier driving forces of cheapening communication? Maybe their irony was purposeful? I sure hope so.
Now on to the music.
A sprawling, 85 minute two-disc epic, Reflektor boasts an indescribable sound, but I will try my best to explain: Haitian-inspired rhythms carrying Krautrock and disco-fused beats, underscored by steady clave percussion tempos, pierced by jangly guitars, enveloped in ambient haze and peppered with just about every other instrument imaginable. It is Bowie meets LCD Soundsystem meets Talking Heads meets Afro-pop (also known as the entire foundation of popular music). Each song is an intricate orchestral masterpiece, lavish yet unimposing, an accomplishment in and of itself, densely arranged and fully satiating with eight of twelve clocking in at over five minutes apiece.
Yet, within such vast length lays the problem: whatever argument Win was attempting to make with his record could have been achieved easily in twenty fewer minutes. At a certain point, Reflektor becomes too much to handle in a single listen, and a cut or two regrettably become a substitute for the completed and immensely beautiful picture. The title track probably could have expunged a few instances of the (50-time) repeated phrase “it’s just a reflector” without losing significance or meaning. “Afterlife” similarly falters when it so desperately holds on to its “work it out/scream and shout” rhyme scheme for far too long, slightly marring an otherwise perfect (and I mean perfect) song. “Supersymmetry” didn’t need the last four minutes and Arcade Fire knows it — they were a purely extraneous indulgence.
While Arcade Fire has mastered the harmony of an ever-elusive and evolving sound while retaining a distinctive, unmistakable edge, Reflektor does contain a couple stylistic miscues. Notably absent is a lead vocal contribution of Régine Chassange, whose steady yet potent alto normally provides a refreshing break from Win’s sometimes too-unsubtle pretension.
Also, a few songs contain seemingly paradoxical arrangements that hit the ear just the slightest bit off. Whereas “Normal Person” and “You Already Know” display the gradual and climactically concluding structure for which Arcade Fire is known, “Here Comes the Night Time” sort of devolves into a gentle piano riff in place of the bombastic escalation one would expect. “It’s Never Over (Oh Orpheus)” sheds the momentum it should have maintained, or at least revisited, halfway through. “Porno” hints at something great but instead drags on for an extra minute before suddenly cutting off like the Sopranos finale before bringing the whole thing home.
Reflektor is indeed a lot to swallow. But otherwise, the album is simply incredible. Unfathomably good. Spectacularly crafted. Superbly produced (thank heavens for James Murphy and his brilliance inside a studio). I amend my earlier thought and assert that, with the release of Reflektor, Arcade Fire is, without a doubt, the best band of the 21st century. If you haven’t yet listened (twice, thrice, ad nauseum) I wouldn’t waste another minute depriving yourself.
