ORIGINAL RELEASE DATE: AUGUST 2ND 2010


It’s interesting to me how time can affect the reputation of a record. That’s the reason you’re reading this right now. Neon Bible, the second album from Montreal indie rock band Arcade Fire, was released in early 2007 to near-unanimous praise from all corners of the music press. Following on from not only one of the strongest debut albums but one of the greatest records ever made, it’s easy for fans and critics to get a little bit excited about its successor. Where Funeral had time to gestate and pick up listeners, suddenly Arcade Fire were faced with an impossible task of following up such a groundbreaking debut and pleasing everyone in the process. It worked at the time, in theory. Fast forward three years and Neon Bible has been called everything from a major slump to just plain overblown.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise to note that in the year since the release of The Suburbs, the band’s bold and brilliantly expansive third album, Arcade Fire are frequently cited as the biggest band in the world. The record debuted at number one on both sides of the Atlantic and was followed by a series of sold out gigs at Madison Square Garden and later, London’s o2 Arena. Now that a year has passed since its release, it’s definitely important to acknowledge its significance on not just Arcade Fire as a b(r)and but the music scene in general. Arcade Fire were widely considered the greatest live band in the world for years before this record was released, but they’ve managed to maintain that plaudit even after scrapping theaters and scaling up to stadiums. No mean feat. Whilst it’s true that a large portion of their ‘cool’ edge has been lost, it barely matters. Win Butler doesn’t appear to care about what’s cool and trendy (despite his incredibly hipster haircut) because by my estimations, they were never considered a particular ‘cool’ band to begin with. Cool bands rely on cool for cool’s sake, to back up the fact that their music isn’t really worth the time of day. Arcade Fire had talent and substance from the offset.


The most noteworthy thing to happen to the band in the past year, however, is their triumphant Grammy win for Album of the Year. The ensuing controversy (mostly hate from people who had never even heard Arcade Fire’s music) was both hilarious and bittersweet. A lot has been written about what their Grammy means for the indie community, and we’re in the midst of experiencing that. The trajectory of Arcade Fire has been gradual but enormous with each subsequent push and it’s played out in three stages, each following the release of their studio albums. The focus has and always will be on the album.


The Suburbs has come to mean so much more than merely Arcade Fire’s third album. It’s easily their most involved and encompassing record to date. It’s now what defines them. Thematically, it’s centered around life in the suburbs but from the perspective of children and how that perspective can change dramatically once we grow up and become adults. It deals with the loss of innocence and a lot of the songs here focus on large voids left by that which was once present, both emotionally and physically. Half Light and Sprawl are two dual suites that show Arcade Fire expanding their boundaries and really pushing disparate musical styles. The former is invested in its marching drum rolls and cascading strings: “Strange how the half light can make a place new,” sings Régine, contrasting dusk and dawn with life’s more considerable touchstones; death, love, marriage, birth. Its companion piece, Half Light II (No Celebration), takes these strings and exchanges them for cavernous synths and chugging drum beats. It’s the sound of children growing up and understanding that the world extends much further than their back garden and as usual, it’s filled with uncertainty. Win takes the lead vocally but there’s an odd moment where wife Régine comes in. Not only does it add depth but given the subject matter, it feels like emotional support just as much as vocal. Sprawl I (Flatland) brings about the dread of an uncertain and ominous future. As usual, the past is romanticised as the present and future are feared. It’s replete with an equally passionate and despondent vocal delivery; the protagonist has returned to his hometown (we know this to be factual; The Woodlands, Texas) and finds nothing of the place he once inhabited. In truth, it has an apocalyptic feel about it. Alas, this is subverted with the final blow of Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains), the best song Blondie never released, an example of a song so perfectly contradicting its subject matter with shimmering disco synths that you can do nothing but dance. And that’s what Arcade Fire have always done best: dance through their pain and turn it into a spectacular, cathartic release.


The Suburbs is distinguished by its theme of sprawl, not just geographically but also musically. Funeral and Neon Bible had defined boundaries but The Suburbs feels like it was conceived as a whole. Much has been said about the album’s length and sixteen tracks is ambitious by any band’s standards in this day and age, but there’s a continued restraint here and enough going on musically to hold your attention. The Suburbs is a record designed for repeated listens, one that seeps in deeper with each successive spin and takes root. Rococo dares to question an audience of scenesters pushing and pulling one another apart in a frantic display of teen angst. It’s a pointed criticism of rapid changes in youth culture, but Arcade Fire revel in it providing an earth shattering guitar solo as the song evolves. Here they’re the spectators whilst on songs such as Wasted Hours they recall a youth spent with wistful and hushed repletion. It’s echoed in the album’s lead single and title track with a deceptively simple piano jaunt and the chorus line, “Sometimes I can’t believe it, I’m moving past the feeling.” This becomes a mantra for the record as a whole as we grow older, form relationships, get married, have children and move back into the ever-expanding suburban sprawl that we initially came from. Life cycles repeat, and in time the protagonist will become the generation of elders who so inspired the sorrow and heartache on Funeral. We Used To Wait is a lesson in gentle pacing with a beautiful piano-laden intro and patient crescendos. One particularly stands out, just before the second chorus as strings rise behind the piano. “I used to write letters, I used to sign my name,” sings Butler of an all too unrealised truth. In this digital age we no longer communicate by more traditional, physical means. That idea of waiting for a letter to arrive or a simple phone call is gone.


Whilst most of The Suburbs can initially feel pared down and lacking the dramatic paranoia of Neon Bible (one of its main pitfalls upon reflection), there are examples of spectacular energy here such as on Empty Room. Complete with thunderbolt violins and sublime, driving guitars it’s one of the songs that defines the sound of the album, a living and breathing entity that utilises atmospheric reverb to open the song up to truly epic proportions. It’s over before three minutes, but that’s the beauty of it. City With No Children suddenly rolls into view showcasing yet another big musical shift. The sequencing is no accident and from the truly classical they more than pay due to Springsteen, picking up where (Antichrist Television Blues) left off. Month Of May was, along with the title track, the first sense we got back in May last year of a major shift in the band’s sound. It’s still the most out-of-place track on the album and whilst the studio version can feel a tad formulaic, they turn it into something else when performed live. Modern Man was one of the most talked about songs on the album one year ago but treads fairly safe territory now. Mellow it may be, but it concerns adjusting to the technologies of present and the decreasing integrity of the modern man, where we are right now as a race of people being bulldozed by technology at a supersonic rate throughout every aspect of our lives. It’s not the greatest song on an album peppered with highlights but it’s surely the most honest. Ready To Start follows on from the tail end of the title track, strings wavering in and out before anxious guitars cascade down. It represents Arcade Fire’s uncanny knack for performing with immediate urgency and a simultaneous sense of suspense, the beginnings of something taking greater form as the song progresses. Suburban War is arguably the strongest and most poignant song on the whole album. This gestation period has allowed it to spread its roots, and this is felt throughout the whole album. Rich in vivid imagery it shifts frequently back and forth between the familiar and the unknown. Marching drum beats add to the feeling of desolation. One feels it acts as a more fleshed out version of Sprawl I (Flatland) in which the modern man returns to the location of his childhood. “Oh my old friends, they don’t know me now,” cries Win and the effect is heartbreaking and universal.


The Suburbs is many things and its importance will only grow over the coming years. It stands alone as a separate album, that most singular of listening experiences because it relates to the direct past of pretty much every person in this world. Its genius lies in Arcade Fire having built a name for themselves by making music that speaks directly to a legion of teenagers and twenty-something indie kids, each escaping the suburban sprawl they were born into and venturing out into the big wide world. This devout connection between youth culture was apparent early on in the Neighborhood series of Funeral, and it’s even more clear here. If you happen to have heard The Suburbs at this point in your life and connected to it a way that befits many of your childhood memories, it should hopefully stay with you as an ever-evolving and constantly relatable piece of music. Suddenly for Arcade Fire, the task seems not to keep making records that are considered epic, bold, brilliant [insert superlative here], but to keep making records that connect on more than just a musical level. It’s all about instinct and there’s more bands failing to engage listeners than ones who are. But then, Arcade Fire have fans of intense devotion and a visionary frontman who just gets it. Album Number Four should be a breeze.