Arcade Fire

Neon Bible

Could Neon Bible actually best their stunning 2004 debut? Yes. On Funeral, the band wrestled with death and its aftermath. Here, they look outward at the world from, and this is crucial, an American perspective.

And here’s the thing about Neon Bible. It’s a record controlled and surrounded by darkness, and maybe the group even focus in upon it and create the record around that absence of light. It certainly feels like it.

Arcade Fire are that kind of band; dark and unpredictable, explosive and restrained, au fait with global warning yet immersed in their own world.

What sticks with you finally is not sense but sound, the wordless operatic chorale that crests over a martial drumbeat in the song’s coda - a big, dark, churning ocean of noise.

To criticise Neon Bible for not being perfect is as unfair as refusing to take the last, cutest dog in the pound because it has a cold nose. By any standards, excepting those which the band have, through deed, set, it’s a wondrous record.

Funeral provided context and impetus for the congregational experience; Neon Bible actually matches the live show's scope and emotion.

These songs are almost completely humorless, but there’s a quavering vulnerability behind Win Butler’s deep voice, a sense that each soaring chorus is sung through stifled tears. It grants the sometimes-clunky lyrics a crucial authenticity. 

On Neon Bible, the band looks outward instead of inward, their concerns more worldly than familial, and their sound more malevolent than cathartic.

Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible is an album luscious of misery; it’s fully and deeply rooted in foundations rich in the dramatically maudlin and endearingly melancholic.

Neon Bible takes a few spins to digest properly, and like all rich foods (orchestra, harps, and gospel choirs abound), it's as decadent as it is tasty ... but there's no denying the Arcade Fire's singular vision, even when it blurs a little.