For the Record - 9/16/10

On their first two albums, Arcade Fire captured the intensity of existential crises. Funeral, as the album title suggests, sought to find a way to cope with death at a young age, ultimately favoring acceptance over escapism. On the hit track “Rebellion (Lies),” the chorus — in a repeated, assured manner — goes, “Every time you close your eyes/Lies, lies.” The band suggests that no matter how hard you try to close your eyes and dream, life still goes on. Take charge of your existence — your randomly dealt situation— and make the most of it.

On Neon Bible, Arcade Fire commented on institutions and the absurdities of life. “Intervention,” a somber, organ-driven tune, lets out an emotionally charged one-liner: “Working for the church while your family dies.” These moments, perhaps heavy-handed, work to appeal to fresh readers of Nietzsche and Camus — philosophers quick to point out the inane nature of existence. So, again, understand how ridiculous life is, recognize yourself as an individual amongst the “herd,” and attempt to live authentically — how existential!

Now, with their third and most recent effort, Arcade Fire has drifted to a topic more prone to subtle criticism than feelings of emotional catharsis — The Suburbs. The title track — also the opener — strikes a different tone early on, with a poppy piano jangle that sounds eerie coupled with Win Butler’s deep croon. And the subject matter finds Arcade Fire taking a freshly matured perspective — they talk about marriage, having kids and, in the chorus of “The Suburbs”, of moving “past the feeling.” Perhaps “the feeling” is what pervaded on earlier albums — feelings of youthful, wide-eyed angst.

“The Suburbs” also displays some of Arcade Fire’s musical versatility. “Modern Man” uses electronically processed chamber noises à la Grizzly Bear; “Empty Room” is frantically chaotic and almost shoe-gazy; and “Month of May” strums quickly on bar chords in a rather unsuccessful attempt to be punk. Many of these stylistic dalliances work to add to Arcade Fire’s already impressive sound, though the band should steer clear of upbeat punk in the future.

Some highlights off the album include “Suburban War,” a tune that starts off with some Byrds-esque, treble-heavy finger picking and explodes into a chorus driven by calculated piano notes. The song also works as a poignant critique on the essence of suburbs: “This town is so strange/They built it to change.” Indeed, friends move on to different cities, lost and caught up in the train tracks of life and so the suburbs change as new residents — new personalities — take over.  The end of the song finds Butler chanting, “All my old friends, they don’t know me now,” with the grandiose delivery that has earned Arcade Fire the “arena-indie” label.

Another strong point, “Rococo,” uses repetition to emphasize the band’s new perspective — that their world-view is “past that feeling.” Arcade Fire, now mature, is intimidated by the “modern kids” who “use big words that they don’t understand.”

Just like the suburbs are “built for change,” Arcade Fire has proved capable of making stylistic and thematic adjustments. Though their first two releases won much critical acclaim, it is refreshing to find the band taking a breather from their epic and emotionally charged style that has been somewhat genre-defining. The Suburbs, however, introduces a new level of uncertainty for the future of Arcade Fire and, just as Butler posits, the change has left me questioning whether I know the real Arcade Fire.