Radio stations loved them because they took up far less space than 12” long playing albums. The consumer was thrilled that there was no longer the horrible fast forward or rewind steps needed to hear your favorite song by way of cassette. There was no need to buy a very expensive stylus (turn table needle) because when the laser reader no longer worked it was cheaper to go get a new CD player than try to repair it.
This third sonic document from the biggest indie band on the planet brings to mind the line about Moll Flanders ‘ always known to pour a man a full measure, and a wee drop more’. Never one to skimp on the theatrics nor shrink from flirting with the overblown, major dude Win Butler isn’t about to change now but does demonstrate a newfound suss in knowing when to hold ‘em. As a result, the AF’s demonstrate, most notably on “”City With No Children” and the sparse perfection of ‘Wasted Hours”. a level of restraint you tend to forget in this seven-headed band.
Big picture, this is Arcade Fire deconstructing the suburbs, turning over fragments and slivers of that lifestyle and the effects of its urban and internal geographies. It’s all meat for the grinder, the light and the dark, the sharp and the sweet, the alienated and the in-charge, dragged out of bed, cold water splashed in its face and yielding up some monster moments.
And it comes with a twist of wry. Unlike its predecessors, this album doesn’t wrap it all up in a grand conclusion. At the end of Butler’s shakedown of all things suburban, the points made and questions raised rattle around like a drawer full of dead I Pods. Suburban banality, corrosive ennui and what might have been never sounded more epic. Especially on the supremely full bodied “Sprawl 11(Mountains beyond Mountains) which gets elevated behind some Gospel tinged keyboards, courtesy of Will Butler’s love affair with vintage analog synths.