Album Review: "Funeral" by Arcade Fire

Only very rarely does an album come along that hits you so hard that for several days after discovering it you don’t want to leave your bedroom/car/living room, or wherever you happen to immerse yourself in music. “Funeral” is one of those rare albums. It was recorded at a cost of only $10,000 in November 2004, picked up by a Montreal indie label, and has apparently been hailed by critics as a masterpiece. As soon as I bought this album, I found out, to my surprise, that countless other people had heard of it too. It was playing at coffee shops – Remedy, Muddy Waters. Damn it. I thought I got to this album first! (First in my immediate circle, anyway.)

No matter. I suppose music this good deserves to get recognized.

For the most part, the singing for Arcade Fire is done by Win Butler, and his voice is so raw that you think the emotions are going to bury him at any moment. It’s not for nothing that the album is called “Funeral.” Apparently, several of the band’s family members died during the album’s creation. This isn’t “happy” music. But the music takes its sorrowful themes and transforms them into melodies that are incredibly, almost inexplicably, uplifting. On the opening track, “Tunnels,” Butler starts softly, almost inaudibly – his voice nearly disappearing into the instruments. His emotional intensity slowly builds and builds, until he is yelling out crazy lines that may or may not be profound (still haven’t decided that yet, but they sure sound profound.) "And then, we tried to name our baby!" he nearly shrieks. "But we forgot the names/ all the names we used to know." By now the beat is truly hopping, and the song has become one of those rarities: it is able to move your passions and your pelvis. If the sound can be compared to anything, think of Jarvis Cocker from Pulp singing “Common People.” Only this is so much better.

When track two kicks in, Laiki, you really know you’re in for something different. An accordion kicks in during the opening guitar licks, and you’re thinking, an accordion? Do they just want to be weird? But like all the instruments they throw at the music (especially strings), Arcade Fire makes everything work. Everything fits. The accordion refrain later morphs into something that sounds vaguely East Indian, then Win Butler’s band-mate and wife, Regine Chassagne, joins in, also sounding Middle Eastern and exotic, and it’s one of those rare moments where music truly takes you out of the mundane.

Maybe it’s the fact of being Canadian, or more specifically, Montrealers, but Arcade Fire just don’t sound like any specific nationality at all. “Crown of Love,” which is a little more conventional, could easy be a mid-sixties British ballad. “Power Out” has Seattle angst written all over it, and would not have been at all out of place on a Modest Mouse album.

Sometimes chameleon-like bands have the problem of sounding like everyone except themselves. Not so with Arcade Fire. No matter what crazy directions the music goes in, the consistently raw, emotional edge of Butler, joined by the sweeter tones of Chassagne, keep you grounded in a sound that is uniquely theirs.

Apparently, the major record labels are desperate to sign this band and are offering $1 million up front for the next album. It seems inevitable that before long, everyone will have heard of them. The downside is that I won’t feel so special. The upside is that maybe, just maybe, Canada will become known for more than producing schlock like Nickelback and Celine Deline. That’s the dream.