Many musicians have been engulfed in scandal, but in the case of Win Butler, of Arcade Fire, the reek of unacceptable behaviour has been accompanied by a whiff of hypocrisy.
Blending the preachiness of U2, the rafter-raising earnestness of Springsteen and the mannered angst of Radiohead, Arcade Fire have, ever since their career-defining appearance at Electric Picnic in 2005 – a catalysing moment for performers and festival alike – carried the sense of being more than a band.
Their songs celebrated communion, togetherness, the belief that, in both art and life, it’s possible to rise above the mundane and be fuelled by a sense of brotherhood. When Butler plunged into the crowd at the end of that Picnic set, it went beyond theatrics. He was taking a wrecking ball to the barrier between audience and headliner.
But was it all a lie? In August 2022, 36 hours before Butler was due to speak to The Irish Times in Dublin, the music website Pitchfork published a story accusing the singer of sexual misconduct (and of serial infidelity to his wife and Arcade Fire covocalist, Régine Chassagne).
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“Three women made allegations of sexual interactions with Butler that they came to feel were inappropriate given the gaps in age, power dynamics, and context in which they occurred,” Pitchfork reported.
Butler, working through a crisis-PR agency in New York, said the sexual interactions were consensual; Chassagne said he was “lost” but had “found his way back”. On social-media platforms, people expressed surprise that it had taken so long for reports about Butler’s behaviour to reach the press.
That interview with The Irish Times never went ahead – but, playing 3Arena that week, Butler was keen to send the message that all was fine in Arcade Fire. Before showtime he went out on the concourse to talk to fans. (He left when a journalist spotted him.)
The show that followed was deeply strange: the group gave their everything, and the audience largely went along. But talk about an elephant in the room.
Could we continue to believe in Butler and his compatriots as conjurors of wholesome spiritual vibes? It would be like waking up to find out that Mumford & Sons worshipped Satan or that Kneecap were only in it for the publicity.
That elephant remains in the room on the band’s first postscandal LP, but now it has been painted in the same bright and gauzy colours as the smile Butler had plastered across his face during his 3Arena charm offensive.
While Arcade Fire haven’t said as much, you suspect that Pink Elephant, which the band made with Daniel Lanois, the U2 producer, is Butler’s “shame walk” album. It feels claustrophobic and paranoia-soaked, and is largely free of the big “woah-oah” moments that were an Arcade Fire signature.
Yet it’s hard not to conclude that Butler is figuratively walking the Stations of the Cross without quite feeling the vibe. There is something ersatz about its remorse, which seemingly arrives watered down with self-pity.
That point is signposted on the title track, where, over spiky guitar, Butler mumbles that he is “jumping every time the phone rings” and describes “families faking on the TV ... crying tears we don’t believe”. He seems to think everyone else’s life is a lie, too.
Pink Elephant emerges from its pity party only when Chassagne is at the mic, as on the beautifully gauzy Year of the Snake. It’s a lovely mix of shoegaze shimmer and wonky disco grooves. Alas, the effect is diminished by Butler swinging in to make it all about him as he declares, “I’m a real boy / my heart’s full of love/ it’s not made out of wood.” He’s trying to mansplain his shame away.
Husband and wife duet again on Circle of Trust, where their voices are paired with a Nine Inch Nails-style industrial beat, as they declare, “watching them dancing / it could be us / the circle of trust”.
There is an overtone of eavesdropping on a conversation you’d rather not have heard. Nobody wants to listen to a couple work through their relationship issues on a record – unless it’s Fleetwood Mac on Rumours, in which case bring it on – and the sense throughout this murky and fun-free album is of songwriters required to grapple with their emotions rather than declaim them to the audience.
It may not be going too far to say it never once smacks of authenticity. Fans who felt betrayed by the 2022 scandal are unlikely to be mollified by what comes across as Pink Elephant’s performative remorse or a whiny narcissism just under the surface.
Having blazed with righteousness for so long, Arcade Fire have released the biggest damp squib of their career.
