For a band who've previously been defined for their subtlety and light touch, the enormous gated snare sound that kicks The Valley's doors in is an earpricking new touch. If the record's small army of musicians is an attempt at harnessing the Big Music now Arcade Fire are winning Grammys it's a peculiarly awkward shot at mass communication, Will Sheff's lyrics still densely allusive, containing more than the RDA of accusation, permeated sickness, bad intentions from both parties and cross-references to the diseased whore of the music business. Somewhere amid the mass of electrified sound, which is somehow never allowed to messily overwhelm, there's still a heart even if it burns or is turning black.
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