Arcade Fire certainly likes to tackle hefty emotional states. First the tales of bereavement and uncertainty in 2004's hit Funeral, then the fears of political and religious ideology in 2007's Neon Bible. Now with The Suburbs, the band dives into something a bit familiar for a lot of us: that liminal stage between childhood and adulthood, where feelings of uncertainty, longing, and wonderment once flourished beneath the homogenous backdrop of suburban day-to-day.
Of course, a concept album that revolves around growing up in the 'burbs is nothing new, nor even remotely original for musical artists. But for frontman Win Butler, the album represents a more personalized expression--one that first drove the commercial success of their debut album and that was also, perhaps, forgotten in the overly explicit political overtones of their previous. But fear not, Arcade Fire fans, the band that once tugged at the heartstrings with angst-filled ballads has returned with a more mature and arguably more intelligent way of bringing its listeners along its retrospective journey. The destination? A place where the harrowing and fickle forces of time and modern culture once combined (and perhaps continue) to define suburban anxiety.
Don't let the intro of the first track fool you; this isn't a happy-go-lucky Billy Joel/Ben Folds cover band. If you listen closely, the seemingly optimistic melody contains some haunting notes--Arcade Fire's characteristic way of foreshadowing the suburban discontent that will echo throughout the rest of the album. "Modern Man," for example, addresses the self-doubt and identity crises of young adults. "We Used to Wait," on the other hand, conveys a longing for a time when waiting and deliberation were more closely linked to forms of emotional expression, such as the written letter.
Lyrically, the album can sometimes suffer from an extra helping of triteness. Although I imagine "Modern Man" will become an instant Arcade Fire classic, the poetry of its lyrics is uninspired. The modern man's complaints about the "record [that] keeps skipping," or the "clock [that] keeps ticking," or being "almost there," and "breaking the mirror," and so on, do not necessarily evoke the strong emotional connection that its Springsteen-like palm mutes necessitate.
Speaking of Springsteen, the album owes a good deal of its merit to the Boss, despite the band's citing of a vast array of musical influences. Songs like "Half Light II (No Celebration)," where the repetitive bluesy melody dances along a U2-like backbeat, are reminiscent of Springsteen's The River or his darker material on Born in the U.S.A. However, the band still shines through with its own characteristic sound, especially when Regine Chassagne's glimmering vocals emerge from beneath the feverish violins of songs like "Empty Room" or the throbbing new-wave synths of "Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)."
It is quite a bold project for a band to endeavor within only one album, and it is also probably the reason they kept it at a lengthy sixteen songs. Yet, this hour-long 'journey' might feel a bit too much like one upon first listen, especially as the first track's clanky get-in-your-car-and-drive piano ballad hits full force. However, to think of The Suburbs as a long laundry list of new songs is to completely miss the point. Presumably, the band did not lump a bunch of their new stuff onto a record and then cross their fingers hoping that at least a few would be good enough to propel them up the charts. In this A.D.D. age of music blogs, illegal downloads, and hype machines (in every sense of the phrase), music fanatics rarely take the time themselves to sit down and devote their full attention to new albums all the way through. Not that every album deserves a full-listening; many artists have now sacrificed album coherency for individual-song likability. The concept album is quickly becoming supplanted by a collection of catchy singles, and with that, listeners' ability to appreciate a good narrative arc continues to wane.
This might be the reason several listeners might be initially caught off-guard and perhaps disappointed by the slowness of the album. But like an epic novel, you must read it all the way through. Without doing so, you would never catch the slight artistic flourishes, the intricate dialogue performed between each song, or the reason each song absolutely must follow the previous. And so forth. The album is the music-equivalent of a novel, and though both are dying within our modern age, their emotional effect on audiences is no less compelling.
The album grows with each listen. The simpler lyrics continue to dredge deeper into memories of youth and uncertainty. The blander tracks like "Wasted Hours" or "Sprawl (Flatland)" no longer warrant a skip. And that's the sign of a band that wants to create an album, rather than just a collection of hit songs. As the last track trails off and our retrospective journey through The Suburbs flickers in the rearview mirror, it might seem a bit overkill to restart the trip. But, of course, you will find such an act impossible to resist.
