Arcade Fire - "The Suburbs"
The Suburbs finds Arcade Fire is playing from their strengths much like Joe DiMaggio did.
Let me explain.
Throughout his life Joe DiMaggio was known as one of the best baseball players ever, but derided by some – mostly Ted Williams fans – for not risking embarrassing himself. (This is said of Cal Ripken too.) He was an achiever: neither under nor over: he played to his strengths and performed admirably on the field … and moved on to right field before he could no longer catch balls hit in cavernous Yankee Stadium’s center field and embarrass himself. That also describes Arcade Fire on The Suburbs: playing to their strengths and performing admirably in front of the fans flocking to see them – if not on the outfield grass of stadiums that DiMaggio once graced – at least today’s amphitheaters.
If you’ve never seen Arcade Fire you might wonder how they’ve managed to become one of the highest grossing live bands despite average album sales. Sure, endorsements from Bruce Springsteen and David Bowie by way of guest appearances at concerts helped, but what did the trick was Arcade Fire’s performances at those same concerts: well paced, energetic shows where band members not only swapped vocals chores but instruments as well. Watching Arcade Fire was like watching kids playing musical chairs. The song material might be dismal – the death of relatives for example – but seeing Arcade Fire was a good time. I saw them in May 2007 at the Atlanta Civic Center and I could tell the next stop was the amphitheaters.
I bring up Arcade Fire’s live side because the presentation of the 16 tracks on The Suburbs reminds me of that May evening. Even the drumstick fueled ‘Month Of May’ replicates that moment in the show I saw when Régine Chassagne slipped in behind the drum kit and rocked the Civic Center to its rafters.
The songs on The Suburbs are finely sequenced like a lessons-learned set list: often fading away as the next one drops in. Opening with a cymbal splash evoking the dive into some suburban pool off of a diving board that’s probably been removed since there’s no lifeguards on duty, the title track is a leisurely paced number, a toe tapper that fits comfortably like an old shoe. It’s perfectly played and doesn’t attempt to do too much: just like Joe DiMaggio. It’s as familiar as the neighborhoods this album’s driving around in. As ‘The Suburbs’ fades away, the album’s single ‘Ready to Start’ drops in. It’s the familiar I, IV, V, I chord structure that Lou Reed popularized. Win Butler sings a song about starting too late and the listener settles in, like a crowd enjoying the show.
There’s some irony here. It’s usually suburbanites filling the seats and covering the grass with blankets at amphitheaters and The Suburbs is an attack on suburbia: the ‘Suburban War’ sung of in one of the album’s best tracks. It’s the album John Cheever might’ve made if he was Leonard Cohen. Whereas most bands target college kids, Arcade Fire Presents "The Suburbs" feels targeted towards the college kids’ parents. There’s a father’s story being told here: a story of attempt and retreat. The title track reads like a mash-up between two Bruce Springsteen songs from Born To Run: only you get the feeling, that after pulling out to win, the young couple didn’t find what they were looking for: “San Francisco’s gone” and he returned East without her: it was her suburban war, not his: and now he’s wondering where’s she’s gone just like Paul Simon once wondered where Joe DiMaggio went.
The Suburbs is full of songs that will remind you of songs you heard on the radio growing up: that’s why it’s as comfortable as an old shoe. And just as insidious as radio used to be when Elvis Costello sang it’s praises. That explains the four stars People magazine gave it: their highest rating. They underestimated it.
