I'm so glad I live in a time when these Montrealites are building entire cities with music. Around town and on the i-nets, two new songs have surfaced from the glorious gutters of suburban living via Arcade Fire. A person might take me for a glutton of musics because for the past two weeks, I have had nothing but "Neon Bible" blaring from the car, in anticipation of new AF material. Sinister and bourgeois, I am, but glouton? moi? OK, I guess I'm that, too. But even the angels of most high might look down upon me with favor, if I were to play them one song from this band. High fives in heaven for the Almighty Fire! And thus Win breathed down on the angels, and the clouds parted and the trumpets roared. Cherubs danced along, as he sang about being bored in "The Suburbs"! It sounds like bar-stool chatter in a diner, an old one, with vinyl seats ripped to the cushion at its seams. There's a glossy counter reflecting indifferent faces, picking at their plates, waiting for something to happen. It's a back-to-the-future clueless town, or a tormented Texan (or Arizonian) territory, bound to its own closed ideals and silently screaming. I can imagine Michael J. Fox yelling out to Doc in the parking lot of a local suburban shopping mall: "Sometimes I can't believe it/I'm moving past the feeling!"
And don't for one minute think the month of May has ended--nay, it has just begun! In "Month of May": "Now, some things are pure and some things are right," sings Win Butler, Patron Saint of Kids with Their Arms Folded Tight. Gritty guitars made of Clash-y, static-y beats that would make even the tightly-folded and late Sid Vicious take heed: 'We are better than anyone, ain't we? Except for Arcade Fire, Arcade Fire are better than us.'
Don't say I didn't warn ya.
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