As “Allatonceness” makes clear, Moffat is having a field day digging into the darkest crevices of online culture, and that devious enthusiasm likewise rubs off on the duo’s musical choices. Arab Strap may never fully shake their sad-bastard reputation, but I’m totally fine with it features some of their punchiest productions to date, expanding the cheeky “disco Spiderland” template of its predecessor into more forceful displays of rhythm and discord. Where they once wrote songs about dancing and getting fucked up, “Bliss” actually sounds like a peak-hour electro club thumper, while “Strawberry Moon” suggests the Fall making ‘80s breakdance jams. And “Turn Off the Light” could be the closest this group has gotten to crafting a festival-sized power ballad—though in typically perverse Arab Strap fashion, the song’s seemingly uplifting sentiments (“You came/And showed me the answers”) actually detail one impressionable man’s descent into conspiracy-theory lunacy.
As much as I’m totally fine with it delights in targeting the trolls who make the internet so inhospitable, the album extends the same grace and understanding to its shitposting subjects as you would to any person beset by a self-destructive addiction beyond their control. The sympathetic first-person perspective of “Turn Off the Light” seems to suggest that the roiling cesspool of disinformation can pull in anyone feeling lost and alone. And while it’s easy enough to condemn the deleterious psychological effects of smartphone dependency, for some of Moffat’s characters, it’s the only thing keeping them sane in a cruel world. With its deceptive ’80s soft-rock sparkle, “You’re Not There” tricks you into thinking Moffat is singing a wistful breakup ballad about an ex-lover who’s no longer returning his messages, until you realize the woman he’s pining for is actually dead, and that texting her is the only way he can fill the void in his heart and home. And as “Safe & Well” suggests, the only thing more frightening than getting sucked into the self-promotional hamster wheel of social media is what happens when you live anonymously: Over a mournful folk arrangement, Moffat recounts the based-on-a-true-story tale of a woman who died in her flat near the beginning of the pandemic, and wasn’t discovered for another two years. In Moffat’s account, no horrifying detail is spared—maggots and all.
On I’m totally fine with it 👍 don’t give a fuck anymore 👍, Arab Strap come to terms with the many ways in which the pandemic fundamentally altered the human experience, by turning hostile discourse, endless scrolling, FOMO panic, and polarizing politics into our default mode, while dampening the desire to seek out real-world experience even as the world returns to a state of business as usual. “Sun is shining, I don’t care,” Moffat admits on “Summer Season,” as he opts to drink alone in his flat, reply to his messages, and make noncommittal plans for in-person meet-ups that will probably never happen. It’s the moment where the nihilistic title sentiment of I’m totally fine with it 👍 don’t give a fuck anymore 👍 is felt most acutely, revealing a truth that few would be willing to admit: The only thing more painful than living through lockdown is missing it.
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