Florence + The Machine

Florence + The Machine have something to prove, and they won’t be denied. As a document celebrating the sheer power of its subject, Ceremonials isn’t unlike a five-minute YouTube clip of Blake Griffin dunking over Korean automobiles—first impressive, and then still kind of impressive, and now, redundant to the point of exhaustion.

Florence Welch has a set of pipes like you—apparently—wouldn’t believe, and her band’s sophomore album is a nearly hour-long showcase of her vocal abilities. Which, in and of itself, isn’t absurd: on a technical level, she’s as proficient as anyone in the cohort of contemporary U.K. divas, and her ability to project and emote suggests a natural stage presence. On “Only If For a Night” and “Shake It Out,” the two standouts here—not coincidentally, also the first two tracks on Ceremonials—Florence successfully hits the rafters with some Arcade Fire organ and catchy, propulsive hooks.

Within the current alt-pop sphere, hers is the kind of voice that’s almost always placed front and center, sometimes to the point of distraction. With tracks like the affected, red-haired soul of “Lover to Lover,” Welch is aiming for our hearts via the charts (or is it the other way around?) a la “Rolling in the Deep.” But where that track demanded repeat listens with its tension and build, the songs on Ceremonials are all catharsis. Every chorus is announced via huge, reverberant kick drums; each refrain is supported by a chorus of at least six additional Florences.

Heavy-handedness is a potential pitfall for any artist striving to make big, communal, resounding music. But where, for instance, M83’s Anthony Gonzalez effects emotion through a number of synth sounds and guest vocals (and even he can be called repetitive), Florence + the Machine have only one trick—Welch’s voice. As a series of climactic moments reaching ever higher, Ceremonials is consequently more a showcase of Welch’s considerable talents than a meaningful work of art—it’s self-consciously ostentatious, in the same way as a youth piano recital. The ascending harp lines and percussive piano of “All This and Heaven Too” is pure kitsch, not out of place in a Celine Dion setlist at Caesar’s Palace. Even when the Machine gives the arena-ready instrumental bombast a rest, as on “Seven Devils,” you can hear the strain in Florence’s voice. Subtlety, that saving grace of all likable talent, is nowhere to be found.

Most of Ceremonials is so focused on “release” that the “build” is rote and perfunctory. By album closer “Leave My Body,” we’ve had more than enough of the choral climaxes, but it’s impossible not to see another one coming: Flo and her aptly titled Machine just keep on churning skyward, until Ceremonials unceremoniously stalls out.