The sexual allegations are serious. Three women and a non-binary person who were between 18 and 24 years old when Butler interacted with them — he was between 36 and 39 — claimed he used his status as a famous artist to sext them, harass them, and ask them for things they were uncomfortable with. Two years ago, I talked with two of the women and was horrified by what they told me. They were young, they were fans, and they were manipulated for a man’s enjoyment. Yet today, this same man staged a promotional comeback by releasing an app called “Circle of Trust” — how ironically disgusting — on which he released songs with lyrics such as these.
“Take your mind off me a little while
In the darkest place, I saw you smile
And the way it all changed
Makes me wanna cry, but
Take your mind off me, yeah”
Meanwhile, his alleged victims have to endure seeing Butler being offered a guest spot on Saturday Night Live. They must endure seeing fans dismiss their experiences and find excuses to encourage the whole band, whose every member is responsible for enabling Butler’s behaviour and his return to the stage. They have to endure witnessing sold-out shows and reading articles about the matter.
And Arcade Fire… well, Arcade Fire is stuck in the past, trying to cling to something that doesn’t exist anymore. A fleeting moment in time where they were on top of the world, where Win Butler was invited on all the TV shows, where he’d break guitars live on SNL. Yet, again and again, Butler’s trying to cling to something that shouldn’t be his anymore: fame and respect.
It’s not about cancel culture.
Cancel culture has plagued the cultural discourse in the past few years. I’m the first one to admit it.
Cancel culture doesn’t make space for dialogue or conversations. It takes away humanity from everyone and doesn’t believe in real rehabilitation or genuine efforts for change. We end up in a world where taboos, shame, and persecution reign proudly instead of protecting the victims. And while our judicial system is flawed regarding abuse towards women and minorities, rehabilitation and dialogue should be the basis of a stronger, empathetic society. It can be done, and it has been done. One of the best examples of this in the music industry comes from Pinegrove’s Evan Stephens
Hall, who decided to postpone an album release and disappear for a year before coming back into the limelight after lengthy discussions with the person accusing him of sexual coercion.
That being said, Butler has expressed no remorse for his actions. He moved out of Montreal, left Canada, and went back to live in the US, this time in New Orleans. But more than that, he decided he could dismiss the allegations by saying everything was consensual, blaming young fans rather than acknowledging his faults.
Butler showed cowardice, encouraged by his entourage and fans. He showed contempt for his adoptive city, fanbase, and everyone who listened to Arcade Fire and showed up for the band. He even showed contempt for his marriage by saying he was in an “unconventional relationship,” one that doesn’t even follow the principles of ethical open non-monogamy, according to his alleged victims. Don’t think for a second that Butler and his management aren’t aware of the current situation and deep resentment in their fanbase. They are. And yet, they act like nothing wrong ever happened.
When cancel culture asks for someone to be erased from the public sphere, it does so without nuance and accountability. It asks for a head on a silver platter without considering how to move forward as a society. But Butler’s indifference to the accusations and his fake apology ask us something bigger: Should we rehabilitate people who don’t even try to think about their actions? When should we tell someone they cannot return to the spotlight?
Let’s start today.
Clinging to stardom
From a music journalist’s point of view, Arcade Fire should be on the cusp of becoming a legacy act. In their specific case, they offered their best material years ago. They lack the required introspection to mature musically, offering us albums that sound like 2013 in a can over and over again. Other bands have gone on to start different projects or were able to evolve with the times — a great example of this is Bon Iver.
Ironically, Pink Elephant is one of the weaker albums in their catalogue, even if the accusations had not come to light. That the band (and mostly Butler) seem to be surfing on the fans’ grudge to promote this album just makes it that much more disgusting. Every lyric, every promotional picture, down to the name of their album release app (Circle of Trust), seems to refer to the allegations.
This clinginess to stardom in such a despicable way makes their musical legacy unbearable to listen to anymore. Through Butler’s actions, Arcade Fire becomes a once-glorified band that decides to sabotage their own legacy by holding on desperately to fame and stardom. You can offer the band any spot on Saturday Night Live. It still doesn’t erase the fact that they’ve ruined their legacy by never addressing what happened. They released an album that seems to refer to the incidents by positioning Butler as a victim, something he’s far from.
But this clinginess to stardom doesn’t only come from Arcade Fire. It is fueled by other cultural institutions that choose to close their eyes to the despicable behaviours of their peers. Instead, they accuse the public of cancelling celebrities whose only claim to fame is their past careers. Saturday Night Live and any media contributing to Arcade Fire’s return are complicit in enabling the toxic dynamics that Butler and other band members entertain with their fan base. And it’s mind-boggling that in this day and age, we still want to give relevance to a band that hasn’t done anything to prove themselves worthy of our time or money, whether with their music or their actions post-allegations.
This obsession with staying relevant echoes Win Butler’s obsession with staying young, consistently referring to himself as a young “boy,” lost, looking for meaning, and longing for love. This obsession is opposite to what one of his accusers, let’s call her Annie, told me. I remember crying on the phone as she told me her story. I reminisce about this moment again today. How young she was. How she never asked for this. She was only a fan meeting her hero. A hero who today is still being revered by old New York producers who decide to give them a slot on their weekly comedy show.
Conclusion
I won’t lie. I listened to Pink Elephant. I listened to it while writing this article. I was looking for something, I guess. Maybe I was looking for proof that Butler knew what he did was wrong. But instead, I ended up hearing him referring to himself as “boy” and a misunderstood romantic with too much love to give. I couldn’t take it. There was no growth or self-awareness.
The same morning, I had received a hateful email from someone calling me complicit in the far-right rise in the US because of my 2023 NPR article about Win Butler and Montréal. I had chosen to shun away potential allies by writing this piece. It was my fault if Canadians were arrested at the border.
“I hope you get the opportunity to sit in a detention cell at the border so you may see for yourself,” said the email, confusing me for a Black woman and calling out my integrity as a journalist.
I saw many articles doing wordplay on Pink Elephant. “The Pink Elephant in the room,” my colleagues said while describing this strange and inappropriate release. I’d like to offer a counterpoint.
There is no Pink Elephant in the room. No one is avoiding the subject and refusing to talk about it. We are actively discussing Arcade Fire’s lack of accountability, specifically Win Butler. But we’ve come to accept that in a post-MeToo world, horrible people will always come back and be glorified. They will be welcomed as Cancel Culture’s martyrs — I have yet to see someone fail to return because of Cancel Culture. Those who get left behind are the victims, who, once again, are vulnerable women/minorities. People who are
just asking for you to listen to them. But once more, as a society, we decided to rehabilitate people who aren’t even looking to rehabilitate themselves.
In “Circle of Trust,” one of the album’s songs, Butler sings the following lyrics to a dance-pop tune.
“I’m with Kid Icarus
He says his name’s on the list
He says if you hadn’t kissed him, he wouldn’t exist
The archangel Michael is blowing up your phone
He wants to know where you are
And when you’re coming home
When are you coming home?”
No one is coming home, Win. We left you a long time ago.
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