Broken Social Scene

A dark, dank melancholy drifts over Broken Social Scene, the latest in an unfortunate series of Canadian bands lumbered with the ‘new Arcade Fire’ tag. In truth, the Toronto group traffic in sounds far stranger and more otherworldly than that of their Montreal compatriots.
It is impossible, for instance, to countenance U2 championing Broken Social Scene or to imagine day-time radio falling for its sullen charms.
At the heart of Broken Social Scene are Brendan Cannning and Kevin Drew, Toronto scenesters, who have, through the band’s history, roped in a rag-tag of local musicians as collaborators.
Yet this, their third album, is, surprisingly, a one-note affair. Minus previous conspirators such as Feist, the Canning-Drew axis has slipped into an dreamily gloomy groove.
As a result, Broken Social Scene appears almost to recoil from the listener, junking a pleasant chord progression or winsome chorus mid-song, before it has a chance to creep into your affections.
Certainly, there are seductive moments amid the sprawl, melodies that hang like spun silk between blasts of guitar and gentle acoustic washes.
However, unstinting perversity is the LP’s real story; Broken Social Scene pushes to the limit the aesthetic possibilities of rock. Like snow drifts sweeping over a park bandstand, neo-classical swirls tug at the edges of the music, contorting it into bizarre new shapes.
Ostensibly the group's ‘sellout‘ album – the one that makes the new releases shelf of your record store and the pop pages of the Sunday broadsheets – Broken Social Scene proves consistently wary of your devotion. For that we should be thankful. Sometimes things look better with the lights out.