Arcade Fire: Neon Bible

I can brag that I saw Arcade Fire just after the release of their debut album Funeral, because like the record, that crowded, sweaty night was the clarion call for nothing short of an indie-rock rebirth. Of course Win Butler and Co. band made no attempt to hide their debt to proto indie-rockers like David Byrne or David Bowie or even Bono, all of whom would come to give props or even join them on stage for their second tour (that time through, they sold out the sports arena). And rightly so: for a long while afterwards, little else could touch Funeral’s gorgeously bittersweet energy, a rag-tag marching-band spirit that made death sound lovely. But the after-life, as told on this follow-up, ain’t so sweet. The majestic cities and long loves that coursed through the first album have been upended by wars, hurricanes and other current disquietudes, amongst which Butler’s soaring, heartbroken yowl and the band’s orchestral flourishes are searching for at least a momentary escape. Turning from MTV to the hope of “World War III,” our narrator insists on “Windowsill,” “I don’t want to live in my father’s house no more” and “I don’t want to live in America no more,” just before the triumphal percussion rolls in. Whatever may be missing of the first album’s majesty, whatever sonic novelty may be lost here and whatever despair may be gained, Neon Bible is proof that hope remains, at least for innovative rock music.