Stars - There Is No Love In Fluorescent Light

Die strahlendsten Punkte am Firmament der Stars-Alben sind - und da dulden Sternenforscher keinen Widerspruch und verweisen auf die aktuellen Forschungsergebnisse bei Metacritic - „Heart“ (2003) und „Set Yourself On Fire“ (2004). Zwischendurch flackerten zwar immer wieder Singles hell auf („Take Me To The Riot“ oder „Fixed“), zogen die dazugehörigen Platten aber irgendwie immer kometenhaft vorbei und aus dem Gedächtnis. Auch auf ihrem achten Album wandelt das kanadische Quintett auf bewährten Bahnen und kreist um sich selbst. 

„There Is No Love In Fluorescent Light“ setzt natürlich wieder auf die größte Qualität der Band, nämlich den schönen Wechselgesang zwischen Torquil Campbell und Amy Millan, der in „Fluorescent Light“ und „California, I Love That Name“ besonders gut zur Geltung kommt. Wir gewohnt erklingen elektronischer Indiepop mit 80er Jahre-Touch („Alone“, „Real Thing“), bei denen die Gitarren aber mehr Raum erhalten („Privilege“) als auf „No One Is Lost“ (2014), sowie dramatische Balladen („The Gift Of Love“, „Wanderers“). 

Am Ende festigt sich nach 50 Minuten die Hoffnung, dass „There Is No Love In Fluorescent Light“ nicht, anders als seine direkten Vorgänger, wie eine Sternschnuppe vorbei rauscht und nicht so schnell verglüht.  

Millan’s confident vocals on “Hope Avenue” make it sound like she could be a popstar in the vein of Robyn. Campbell gets a requisite U2-style burner on “Alone,” and it’s pretty glorious. The trim, popstep-inflected productions roll on through the piano-caressed “We Called It Love,” with big haymakers from Campbell (“The Maze”) and cosseting enchantments from Millan (“California, I Love that Name”) coming all the way through the end.It’s surely significant that, for the first time, Stars turned over some control to an outsider: producer Peter Katis, who has worked often with the National. For a band like Stars, whose lifeblood and liability has always been bombast, having someone around to arch an eyebrow at them now and then must go a long way. There Is No Love in Fluorescent Light sounds like a band who defied the notion of growing up by realizing that it did anyway, and that it’s strong enough to carry on.(Pitchfork)

The album's core shows the band refining their music, mixing their recent dance-oriented work with the orchestral pop of previous years. Millan shines on "Real Thing," her self-described "pop song pepper spray" that puts possessive men in their place. Campbell sings of isolation on the celebratory pop of "Alone," delivering one of the record's best lines: "I've got the keys and I've got the car, don't make me need you when I've come this far alone." "California, I Love That Name" is a moment of sheer beauty, while "The Maze" begins with sinister instrumentation before Campbell affirms, "I fell into a dream!" There's a sense of bombast to the album that jumps out amongst the gentle tracks, the band staying true to "[making] the small things big and the big things a chorus," as Campbell describes in the album's press release. There Is No Love in Fluorescent Light is the sound of a band that know themselves. Stars speak to the truths we grapple with, and the internal nature of our emotional experiences. It's a gift to hear this realized.(Exclaim)