Neon Suburb

Recording in a church, major love from David Bowie, Terry Gilliam directing their webcast. Plus incredible outputs, albums that never fail to send chills down your spine, grand and lavish orchestrations without any irony or cheesiness. Arcade Fire are one of those bands that make you want to put down those instruments because it is blatant you will never be like them. And if you can’t be like the Canadian band, what’s the point? Three years later after the superb Neon Bible, Arcade Fire return with The Suburbs, further proof their place amongst modern rock’s best bands is well deserved.

Crystal clear as always, Arcade Fire is not your happy-happy band. The piano off the title song might make you feel like the sun is softly touching your skin and the wind gently playing with your hair. But behind the carelessness of the high-pitched “I’m moving past the feeling” lies the hopelessness of life in the suburbs (“By the time the first bombs fell/ We were already bored”). The band goes to and fro between these rays of hope and bitter pills. They trick you with crescendos and dance-y drums, sun-kissed pianos and jingly guitars. They make out of Ready To Start’s instrumental almost a cathartic experience while Win Butler wails “I would rather be alone than pretend I feel alright”.

An impeccable guitar riff follows him as he draws the picture of the Modern Man, “They say we are the chosen few/But we’re wasted”, voice at that point where you feel like he’s about to break down. Frail, lost, he repeats “rococo” like a mantra that is supposed to protect him from the dullness, a mantra that would be nothing without the church-like feeling off the whole song. The organ, the strings, the big drums are classic Arcade Fire, sort of like their unmistakable signature. The racing violin and wailing guitars of Empty Rooms magically wrap themselves around the choir vocals and turn the song into one of the most energetic Arcade Fire have ever written. A remarkable performance on an album that translates as highlight after highlight.

The gentleness of Half Light I is a wonderful intro to the spaced-out, 80s sci-fi movie-like keyboard on the aural Half Light II. And while this might seem weird, the moment when Arcade Fire turn completely rockabilly is not something many would expect. Month Of May has a fantastic raw punk energy, lacks any pretensions, and seems to one great change of pace in the album’s tempo. So the high-spirited pianos, the bluesy guitar riffs or the pounding drums (the trio Wasted Hours – Deep Blue – We Used To Wait) that follow don’t seem out of place. They are moments where Win Butler’s voice seems rejuvenated, not torn down by hurt and fear of failure in the suburbs.

But even if Win hopes for a moment that something pure can last, there is no hope on the theatrical and minimalist homage to despair Sprawl I (Flatlands). Win’s voice seems beaten down as he laments “It was the loneliest day of my life” and sounds like Conor Oberst in his darkest moments. So there one should feel amazed by the quick change to Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) with its Heart Of Glass vibe, the disco lights that seems to come out of each keyboard note, Regine Chassagne’s perfect pop voice. It almost feels like you are expected to take out your roller-skates and go down to the local disco.

It’s a really long album, 16 tiresome pieces. Tiresome because of their complexity, the care Arcade Fire take into crafting each song means that there will always be a rich orchestration and one must be ready to take in too much information. A first play will not fully reveal each wonderful detail. In fact, it is hard to believe one can overplay The Suburbs because this is hardly an album that will ever get old, sound dated or ever fail to surprise you.