Arcade Fire // Funeral (2004)

And thus, 21st century art-rock was solidified. Funeral is an interesting and emotional amalgam. It’s title stems from the untimely deaths of numerous family members that preceded it’s release. It was an instant modern classic, combining art-rock and baroque pop themes in an album wholly focused on the tedium and suffering of life in the current century. There’s a cloud hanging over Funeral and there always will be. It is at once euphoric and melancholy,  free of definable concept or conceit. An album born from death and illuminated by life.

Funeral begins what I like to describe as the “Power 3” of Arcade Fire listening (followed by 2010’s The Suburbs and 2013’s Reflektor). Win Butler, lead vocalist and songwriter, has his hands full with this one. Or rather, filled his own hands. People come and go throughout, but the themes remain air-tight, hellbent on finding some sort of answer to eternal questions. “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” is an operatic opening, flowing gently on and on, reaching it’s climax well after it was deserved. Butler chimes, “And if the snow buries my, my neighborhood/And if my parents are crying/Then I’ll dig a tunnel from my window to yours/Yeah, a tunnel from my window to yours.” Thus begins this ubiquitous theme of feeling both isolated and connected. This is continued in three more iterations of “Neighborhood,” which carry the bulk of the album’s first act. “Neighborhood #2 (Laika)” is an allegory unto itself, packed with symbolism I can’t quite define, and neither can most. “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)”—my personal favorite of the four—rides a strumming lead guitar and uplifting chimes, led by Butler’s aching, breathless voice. It’s a stadium song, one that refuses to halt and stop: “I went out into the night/I went out to pick a fight with anyone/Light a candle for the kids/Jesus Christ don’t keep it hid!” Those lyrics encompass a certain kind of white suburban sentiment, that things are kept hush-hush, unspoken of, quietly locked behind closed doors. “Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)” is the denouement, the musical reprieve of the first three movements. Strings balance gently with acoustic guitar, Butler’s distinct voice both whispered and piercing, the song moves along artfully, gracefully. He sings: “It’s not a lover I want no more/and it’s not heaven I’m pining for/but there’s some spirit I used to know/that’s been drowned out by the radio.” That last measure embodies these movements; one realizes Butler is not merely selling metaphors but in fact speaking about music itself, that too many musicians have in fact lost their idea of art and it’s intangible rewards.

The second half of the album is not as streamlined, but just as structured. “Crown of Love” demonstrates that while Funeral may be bleak, it is never without positivity. In fact, it exudes positivity; it burns slowly as bonfire and begs for you to dance to it’s sorrow. “Wake Up,” a song that would spend a decade destined for coming-of-age movie trailers, is brilliant, uplifting, and infectious. There’s something innocent about the song, with Butler singing “Now that I’m older/My heart’s colder/And I can see that it’s a lie” so honestly it hurts. The chorus is as simple as it gets, a successive series of Oh’s backed by an unrepentant battalion of guitar, cymbal-ping, and indistinguishable noise—a chorus so messy and free it actually feels like a relief, like youth itself. Then we wake. Near the end, “Wake Up” changes, living up to it’s promise. The reflective Oh’s are left behind in favor of short and sweet vocalizations sung under a bright, hopping piano line. Butler speaks (not sings) directly to us, proclaiming “You better look down below,” which can be interpreted as either a heads up or a wink-wink moment. It’s a fantastically economical use of time.

From it’s first guitar strums, “Haiti” sounds simple enough. Classic indie-rock masquerading as folk, a simple rhythm aided by drum and the occasional intrusion of some electronic, otherworldly element. That’s fine enough, as the first two minutes of the song play out as expected. Then we’re left without the lyrics. Régine Chassagne (multi-instrumentalist, vocalist, and Win Butler’s wife) offers up a soft, unaffected voice which subsides and only sound remains, somewhere between a hum and a drone, little flares of sound sparking in and out. For a second, Chassagne inhales quickly as though she’s going to begin again, only to be cut off by the guitar. It’s amazing to listen to this song, recorded in 2003, with the full knowledge I have of the Haitian earthquake that devastated the country in 2010. The song speaks numbers to that context, that so much was said and then some. Sometimes it’s just as well if we close our own mouths, open our ears, and listen to others.

“Rebellion (Lies)” ignites from the tail-end of “Haiti,” a song so lyrically dense I struggle to find something insightful to say. Butler begins by toying with ideological profundity, stating “Sleeping is giving in/No matter what the time is.” It’s a headache of a metaphor, the meaning changing from person to person. The lies we tell ourselves continue, with Butler angrily growling “Come on hide your lovers/Underneath the covers,” which is either an immensely personal recollection from his past or a tried-and-true universal sentiment. Having experienced the rollercoaster that was the first eight songs, I’m inclined to side with the latter. Funeral is not without it’s melancholy, but there’s something joyous in not only knowing the truth but having the courage to speak it freely.

Arcade Fire is concerned more with art than music. This is my personal opinion of course. Listening to their music, their albums as a whole, it becomes evident that they view the two, art and music, as one in the same. Funeral is an elegy for the old you, the person you chose to leave behind when, say, you first experienced death. Or failure. Or when you felt the most alive, those conscious breaths you take upon waking. Or the first time sadness crept into your heart, and the invincible feeling when you fought it back, all bloody knuckles and unshed tears. This is a funeral for your old self. There is infinite joy in that.

 

Chris

Favorite Tracks: “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels),” “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out),” “Wake Up,” “Rebellion (Lies)”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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