There are plenty of dystopian fantasies that match that narrative better than that Talking Heads song, but Talking Heads is a clear connector here because the group’s influence looms so heavily in this music.
The difference is, this time out, the so-called utopia is the internet, slowly swallowing up points of human contact until we’re all walled off in our own digital prison. The conception of eternity as a passionless void, a “darkness of white,” traces back across the pop timeline to 1979, when David Byrne worried that “heaven is a place where nothing ever happens” on Talking Heads’ Fear Of Music. The ideas themselves are reflections, ever so slightly tweaked. Amidst much talk of projecting and deflecting images, Butler dismisses the concept of eternal paradise for a soul without its soulmate: “If this is heaven, I don’t know what it’s for/ If I can’t find you there, I don’t care.” And then, on an Edward Sharpe-y note: “If this is heaven, I need something more/ Just a place to be alone, ’cause you’re my home.” There are lots of ideas to parse here - the detachment that develops from living through our devices, the ways we manipulate our online personas to keep our true selves hidden, the way that process can foster narcissism rather than genuine community - but one thread in particular got me all wrapped up. In the context of “Reflektor,” the lead single and title track from Arcade Fire’s upcoming fourth LP, that internal crackling takes the form of a longing that extends beyond time and space into unseen dimensions including, if Google’s translator hasn’t failed me, “the realm between the living and the dead.” The song pits Butler and his wife, band co-leader Régine Chassagne, as souls separated by some kind of divine chasm or the recesses of cyberspace or both, lost in a hall of mirrors and desperate to reconnect. It’s just obscured by the requisite guilt, fear, and pride that go along with life as a human being and the extra layers of distance that come with being human in the age of Google Glass. Whereas Reznor sees himself as just another part of modern life’s hollow artifice, Butler is sure there’s something real burning inside him.
Just as they approach their music in markedly different moods, they’re getting at the idea of replication from completely different perspectives. Reznor carries the weight of his conscience on his shoulders, but Butler’s load is the weight of the world. Whereas Reznor has always been in touch with his villainous impulses, Butler’s songs render him a troubled hero. Those guys, both brooding alt-rock icons with enough pop clout to bum-rush the mainstream from time to time, are nonetheless on the opposite ends of the personality spectrum, with Reznor holding it down for the dark side with a veteran’s poise while Butler pumps the positivity, albeit in spectacularly anguished fashion. When Win Butler howls, “Just a reflection of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection,” my mind shoots instantly to Trent Reznor proclaiming, “I am just a copy of a copy of a copy,” setting the stage for Nine Inch Nails’ recent synth-pop return Hesitation Marks.
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