Neon Bible - Arcade Fire If you've not heard of
Arcade Fire in the past few years, then I'd like the postal address of the cave you've been living in, as it's probably located on the same latitude as Santas' Grotto and Narnia and Magnum PIs moustache comb and dye room. Which is two doors down from Alfs cat pantry. Which is not on Melmac.
Should that indeed be the case, all you need to know is that they make big, sweeping music, praised and adored by luminary fanboys such as David Bowie (allegedly bought piles of their first CD to give out to friends, so impressed was he), David Byrne (he got very bouncy), Lou Reed (several hundred onlookers actually saw him crack a smile during a concert of theirs in New York) and U2 (rumour has it they said that they'd never tour with another band again - words that Snow Patrol must've just danced for joy upon hearing). The music sounds like a mixture of slow-mo Beach Boys, a redux Camille Saint-Saens after 6 months injecting absinthe into his hypothalamus, The Pogues if they'd decided to be an orchestra instead of a band, U2 if they climbed back out of the safety of the shadow of Bonos head, Joy Division if Ian Curtis had listened to more Donna Summer and gotten more sun.
I really liked Neon Bibles' antecedent, "
Funeral" and it's reminiscences of childhood sewn into near-symphonic paeans to innocence, and while there's no instantly apparent contender to match the sheer infectious shout-out-loud joy of "Wake Up" (my 4-yo insists on playing it every morning, literally as the wake-up song), it's a slowburner. It's as layered as its' predecessor, yet with a much darker undercurrent and certainly much angrier, with the familiar melange of melancholy, melody and multi-instrumentalism, constantly in collision yet never chafing. The lullaby simplicity and onionskinning hallmarks of their sound have remained intact, occasionally skewered by pristine shards of New Order synthbuzz.
It's the second major release within the last few months*, where reviewers seem compelled to draw immediate comparison with vintage mid-70s Bruce Springsteen, and certainly, the haunting emptiness of his lost souls of Amerikana can be heard whispering in the background, still echoes of
Nebraskas aura of forlorn desolation, a nation of lives lived on the edge of nowhere. But thematically, though drawn from the same spectrum of national identity analysis, there's an urgency in the lyrics, a tenacity and outrage at the confusion and apathy of the times we live in, expressed in "Windowsill":
Don't wanna fight in a holy war, Don't want the salesmen knocking at my door, I don't wanna live in America no more, Cause the tide is high, And it's rising still, And I don't wanna see it at my windowsill. The soulful belligerence is more reminiscent of protest-mode Neil Young. Ironically, singer Win Butler is an American living in Canada, Young a Canadian living for decades in California - neither are Anti-American, just Anti-War. Perhaps it's the poetic twists on the everyday that begs the comparison to Springsteens' lyricism and ability to tell a story in song, the almost painterly manner that images and emotions intertwine, fleeting moments evoked and immortalised and distilled into symbols:
I walked down to the ocean, After waking from a nightmare, No moon, no pale reflection, Black Mirror . Set those words to a jaunty, vaudeville leitmotif and you've Neon Bibles opener.
Listening to the album, the one thing that kept occurring to me was "This
sounds like a circus" and indeed the music is a fine balancing act, spinning plates between Shelleyian indulgence, political polemic and wayward whimsy. Sometimes all three meet in one ring, often shifting the spotlight to one
just when you think the other has reached the apogee of it's act. It's brave maneuvering for a band and the stylistic sidewinding succeeds in not being specious.
Words need to be found to sum up here...
challenging is probably the wrong word to use here, with its' negative connotations,
eclectic should finally be sent to the knackers yard of NME 80s aphorisms,
classic or
album of the year puts a picture of a shotgun scene in The Omen: II in my head, such is the impudence of its presumption and
avant garde,well,
avant garde makes the word
ARSEGUARD magically appear on the screen. Can't fathom that one at all, it's not a dirty word per se, but it brings to mind a bunch of flutes making atonal wankmusic that no-one, apart from a similarly bearded bunch of chinstrokers in a decommisioned bomb shelter, would listen to. No. I think the words
Arcade Fire's "Neon Bible" is
really rather good will do for now.
*
The other one being The Killers - Sam's Town