, the gorgeous second album by the Arcade Fire, features choirs, a Hungarian orchestra, a pipe organ, a hurdy-gurdy and a bevy of things that chime. A production of this scale would have been unthinkable when the Montreal band recorded its debut, , in 2004. But that was before they fell into favour with David Bowie, David Byrne and just about anyone with ears.
The disc sold more than 750,000 copies, finished atop many best-of-year lists and made the band Canada’s most thrilling export since maple syrup. While the seven-piece band has expanded its urban Gothic soundscapes, does not suffer from sophomore extravagance. That’s because the Arcade Fire hasn’t lost the urgency that endeared them to us in the first place.
Frontman Win Butler still wails more than he sings (not a dis), and at its most passionate, has the emotional fervour of a revival meeting. Butler and wife Régine Chassagne, the band’s main songwriters, are old souls who are more than a little disenchanted with the world — the lyrics touch on the spiritual emptiness of our era (“I don’t want to hear the noises on TV / I don’t want the salesman coming after me… I don’t want it faster, I don’t want it free”) but also the fallibility of faith (“Not much chance of survival / with a neon bible”). , the gorgeous second album by the Arcade Fire, features choirs, a Hungarian orchestra, a pipe organ, a hurdy-gurdy and a bevy of things that chime.
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