How I ended up at this gig was a simple matter of poor hygiene.
You see, the previous day I’d run out of clean clothes and had only decided to wear my Arcade Fire T-shirt from their 2008 world tour because it stank the least of all my garments. I loaded my trusty torn laundry bag with the more soiled pieces of my day-to-day ensemble and headed to the local Splish Splash Laundromat to scrub my socks, shirts and shorts with suds and soap.
“You know the Arcade Fire are playing a secret show tonight?” said a guy at the Laundromat, who looked remarkably like the lead singer from Mumford And Sons.
“Fuck off?” I replied in disbelief.
“Seriously. Danforth Music Hall. Tickets went on sale at 12pm, less than $40 bucks or something…”
I looked at my watch. 3.50pm! I grabbed my gear out of the wash – still wet – and took off for the nearest subway station. 20 minutes later and a couple of stink-eyes from train passengers displeased with the stench wafting from the sack beside me, I arrived at my destination. Sprinting out through the turn styles I thought, “There’s no way on Earth there are any tickets left. The Danforth only holds like 1200. This is the Arcade Fucking Fire!” Alas, I turned the corner and there was no longer a queue. I’d missed my chance…
“Fuck it, I’ve come this far,” I thought. “I’ll go see if there are any scalpers.” Low and behold as I approached the ticket booth, it was still open.
“Are there any tickets left for the show tonight?!”
“Sure, that’ll be $37.95.”
OMFG!!!
A few hours later, clothes smelling of daffodils and lemon drops and with an excitement level cranked to 11, I was eagerly awaiting entrance to the gig with a 1,000 or so of my fellow AF devotees, our wrists slightly uncomfortable from the tight, fluro pink plastic bands we’d been issued to gain entrance. Finally the doors swung open and we gradually flowed in. I ran straight past the merch/beer booth and headed for the theatre’s gizzard. The Danforth, after all, is a seating only venue and I had to secure a good spot. I found my self a comfy place 10 or so roes back, slightly to stage right. It was only 7.15pm and the band weren’t due to take the stage until 8.35pm, but you could be damned if you thought I was gonna give up a quality spot just to waste my hard earner $$$ on overpriced/shitty beer.
8.33pm. Everyone’s looking at their watches.
8.34pm. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
8.35pm. The lights go down.
FARK! Everyone’s run out of their seats to the front. Stuff it, I’ve still got a great spot. The roar is deafening as the band take to the stage. I remembered the crowd reaction being equally off-the-chain when AF played the Enmore in 2008 with Spoon supporting (aka The Greatest Gig Ever). They are a musical outfit that command an enormous amount of respect worldwide and have a huge following of passionate supporters.
But how would the new tunes go down. I was one of many that were surprised by the slightly lackluster sound of the two singles they’d released from their forthcoming record, The Suburbs. The title track a gentle, alt-country-esque ballad that pleasantly tinkered along, while ‘Month Of May’ was a more rocking, heavy hitter of a tune. Neither, however, were the grandiose sonic ventures we’ve come to expect from the Arcade Fire. Plus, their paired release was confusing – which angle would the new record follow?
Straight off the bat, the band burst into ‘Month Of May.’ Holy fuck. They certainly haven’t lost any of their energy or intensity live. Win Butler commands the stage, all six feet a million of him, strangling his guitar’s wretched neck and singing with gusto and force; Richard Reed Parry, the world’s most successful musical ginger since Mick Hucknell, shreds guitar strings while screaming into a mounted megaphone; Regine Chassagne, the cutest button in indie rock, pounds the drum skins with fists of fury; meanwhile the rest of the band feverishly bang, strum and scream, resulting in a wall of noise that electrifies the hairs on ones neck. This is the Arcade Fire at their most punk rock. ‘Month Of May’ kind've rules.
This is followed by 'Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)', the first song from their first record (and my personal fave). The crowd collectively lose their shit. This is the song that many people identify with as their first experience of the Arcade Fire – track one, side one of their debut album. It has a townhouse in the heart of many an AF fan, as we imagine Win and Regine tunneling with their bare hands through the snow towards each other’s warmth and love. Or something. At number three on the set list is ‘City With No Children,’ another new offering. The whole band is in full swing. Guitar chords forcefully strummed, piano keys bashed in unison, the strings filling the air with honey and the band and audience clap as one as Win sings of his childhood growing up in the suburbs just outside of Houston. A future classic.
‘Rococo,’ without a doubt the AF’s strangest song title, is next in line. But it’s the uniqueness of this word and it’s dominant role in the chorus, “Rococo, rococo, rococo!” that has the entire audience singing along by the time the second chorus rides by. ‘No Cars Go’ is only one of two Neon Bible tracks the band will play in the entire set. No-one is sure if this will be a trend that will continue for the remainder of the tour, as whispers suggest they played a similarly limited amount of tracks from their sophomore record at the previous night’s show. ‘No Cars Go’ however - and its partner in crime a few songs later ‘Intervention’ - are enough tidbits from Neon Bibleto keep crowd sing-along participation at a fever pitch level throughout the night.
But before we get to ‘Intervention’ the band busts out ‘Haiti,’ not one of the more celebrated tracks from Funeral, but a song that has developed its own identity as a powerhouse live. Regine’s dainty, leather gloved hands seize the reins from her husband’s grasp as she pulls the AF juggernaut in a direction that gets the whole crowd jumping up and down in ecstasy. Full on party-time.
Next is the only awkward moment of the night, ‘The Suburbs.’ As a song itself, it’s quite nice, but it doesn’t really grab the audience in the same way as the rest of the set has done. The band looks uncomfortable playing it, like they’re still sorting out the kinks in its presentation. In time perhaps it will find its own identity and confidence, but for now it’s the only forgettable part of the performance. Follower, ‘Suburban War’, is the polar opposite. This is without a doubt the best fucking new song I have ever heard a band play. I was actually repeatedly saying “Holy fuck, holy fuck!” the whole way through it.
There is nothing left to say about ‘Wake Up', it is just incredible. Folklore. ‘We Used To Wait’ was the song that convinced me that if I didn’t pre-order The Suburbs I was nuts, another instant classic off an album that is sure to garner the same response as its predecessors. I desperately want to hear it again and again and again.
The main set is closed out by a one two punch of ‘Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)’ and another newie ‘Ready To Start’; the former being introduced by Win with a simple “One, two, three, four,” before an explosion of noise. It challenges ‘Wake Up’ as their best live song. But it's when the final notes of ‘Ready To Start’ ring out, that the decibel levels really reach their peak. The collective cheer and applause from the audience is phenomenal. It’s one thing to see the Arcade Fire in front of a room full of adoring fans. It’s another thing entirely to see them play to a room full of adoring fans that are also their fellow countrymen.
For two full minutes the applause rings on, until the inevitable ‘slow clap’ began to echo through the room and the band take heed and dance back on to the stage. For the encore we get something old and something new. ‘Modern Man’ is yet again another new song so accessible that you feel like you knew every word, every melody change, every chord progression. Finally, with beaming smiles the band breaks into ‘Rebellion.’ They can hide their exuberance no longer. They know they’ve got another hit on their hands and the victory lap is well under way before the starter pistol has even been fired.
As the lights go down we pound our palms into bloody pulps and cheer until our vocal chords are shredded. It's only the house lights that save us. And in the warm light of the theatre as everyone wipes away tears and collects their things, we know we have seen something truly special.
I now have two Arcade Fire T-shirts, just in case.
Originally published in The Vine
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