Young Galaxy
I was distracted with my letters, but I liked this band. It takes balls to start off your set with an expansive rock ballad, and it is with balls that they hopped around their country, post-rock, punk, and country-influenced tunes. Rhythmically they were fantastic, with an ambitious but solid drummer meshing with a great bassist and one of the few people who realize its not easy to play tambourine, and do it well anyway. Their harmonies were sweet as well, although the sweetness almost took away from how hard they were, wrapping it in puffy thirds, fourths, and fifths. Regardless they were a great energy-boost for the evening, with some nice character on stage. Worth checking out in a few months.
Arcade Fire
Setlist:
1) Ready to Start
2) Month of May
3) Neighborhood #2 (Laika)
4) No Cars Go
5) Haiti
6) Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)
7) We Used to Wait
8) Intervention
9) Modern Man
10) The Suburbs
11) Deep Blue
12) Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)
13) Rebellion (Lies)
14) Half Light II (No Celebration)
15) Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
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16) Keep the Car Running
17) Wake Up
A quick inventory over that setlist reveals a lot. Almost all of their established live heavy hitters are played, taking up 9 songs; 4 of the songs were the pre-released singles, making, and what's left are three tracks that not enough people knew. It's perfect: be everything people remember or are used to in the band, walk onto sort-of-covered material to start and restart the set, and fill in with interesting material to look forward to on the record. Not many risks, but then Arcade Fire doesn't have to take many risks: the audience trusts them to come back, to tolerate even the new stuff: "sorry to confuse you with all these new songs," Win blurted at one point. I don't blame them, either. I'm not sure whether it was me and my memory of what an AF set should be circa 2007, or the audience's knowledge and enthusiasm for the material they knew, or the grooves that hadn't yet been worn into the new songs to make them their own, (or maybe the weight of a strict, vanilla, corporatized venue) but some electricity was lost during the middle part of that set. I wouldn't say there were any real quiet moments, but moments that were more "shuffle" or "tango" than "jump at a rock concert."
Wisely, Ready to Start was placed at the beginning. It rocks hard, has a strong synth melody on the high-end and a frantic and clear chorus. We all went nuts for it, and felt its guidance into the rest of the set, and we knew it, as we did Month of May. Or at least enough of us did to regenerate the electricity. Or maybe they felt better about it. Anyway, MoM balanced out the baroque arena rock with some baroque...punk, I guess. Just as RTS was accessible for its subject, MoM was accessible for that punk styling, for its repetitions and frantic syncopated lyrics.
But they knew what we wanted, and so they drew out the drums, and as the applause and excitement petered away the vague outlines of Neighborhood #2 (Laika) appeared, at which point shit hit the fan. I do think that the group does the old songs better, that they are spaces in which they know the contours and can vault boldly into the sky with all of their enthusiasm, as they did on the opening tunes but with less...comfort? Maybe what I'm critiquing is the new flavor of The Suburbs, that I see in these tunes, with their shufflesteps and slower builds and lack of catharsis (by the way, I lost my pitchfork bet :< ) in arcingly glistening statements in favor of the quiet and common modernity that forms a slow black choking inevitable tide over us. "The last kiss on the coffin of youth . . . the hard drink after a day's work" . . . and now the family, 10 years later, remembering their parents? The fact that The Suburbs takes the subject matter of Funeral from a different perspective freshened, I think, the approach to the old material. Anyway, it kicked ass and blew everyone's mind, cementing in us the expectation of a machine-gun heavy-hitter kind of night. Disco and all.
And so the culmination of the Arcade Fire style, the ultimate (and penultimate) cry of Neon Bible, the old song which was made new, with a bridge that contained one of the few rhythmless moments of the entire night, with two of the most powerful and extended crescendos in all of music, the one, the only, No Cars Go? Similarly, with the call of the horns, light flashes and fist pumps and abandoned shouting, we found trust. The group played it slightly downtempo but no less powerfully. It takes power to drag the thrill of an opening out for 4 songs, and they certainly managed.
Haiti was one of the top moments of the night. Cascading past a four-on-the-floor bass-drum, the rhythm and melody manage to hit every sixteenth note without sounding frantic, creating two levels of access: the melody's elegaic loss made only more compelling by Regine's impassioned stylings, and the rhythm's frantic, cycling need. The wordless and spoken parts seemed new and surprising, unexpected tunnels through the face of the song into new territory of improv and excitement. This band reps their care for Haiti a thousand times over, and it was a real gift to hear that in their music. Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains), which apparently does take after the Tracy Kidder book, had a similar wealth of spirit but was entirely new, entirely different. It grabbed less quickly than the other tunes, but it had a certain glisten to it, a fascinated transluscence which the simple scalar melodies and happy chord patterns only lended to. Subtle, definitely subtle. But Regine was screaming, so it was accessible. And, oh right, beautiful.
We Used to Wait was probably the lowest energy moment of the night, which was kind of a shock after the grab of the last two songs. It was a "tango" sort of song, with a brooding that didn't really take off. Shuffling around to it, though, you could feel the space they were crafting. In the background were shots of various papers and letters which, I assume, belonged to Alvino Rey, grandfather to Win and Will. Is his memory accessible to an audience, beyond the rarity of "My Buddy" and a vague link in the musical chain to AF? Maybe. As with this song and the others, the album as got to get known first.
Intervention was just lovely. The musicianship was a bit rough, notably on the marimba, but whatever. The spirit was everywhere. Also special to hear was not the LP-style full-force organ, or the demo-style acoustic guitar, but a strong mix of the two. With a better soundsystem that could absolutely destroy, but instead a certain sensitivity got lost in the sweep of the drums. Ah well. I wish I could say more about Modern Man, and later Deep Blue, and even later Half Light II (No Celebration), but I really don't remember.
However, The Suburbs shines brightly. One of the things I loved about the tune is how the darkness slowly chokes it, through layers that are added, rhythms that are changed, melodies which flare off, by degrees you enter a more anxious, even desperate space, but always quietly, always. Of course that effect is hard to replicate live, but even so, there was less punch last night, less sureness, less power into that downbeat stomp on the chorus and less soaring off into a new verse rife with more loss every word.
Which wasn't permanent, of course. Because there is only one other thing as exciting to me as the promise of the groove Neighborhood #3 (Power Out). A tune like that couldn't exist on The Suburbs; it's too simple in its statements, too complex in its weavings, too orange in hue (?), too young. Maybe the youngest song on Funeral in its supernova frantic pathos-laden punch. Or maybe not. But only one other thing can move my body like that, can hit so deeply the face of what this band has meant to me like that song. I can't say anything less personal about it.
And the other thing is a drumfreakout which morphs, little by little, into the realization that they're about to play Rebellion (Lies) and you should already moving. It fits the arena amazingly well, and while not as intimate as some of the earlier tracks, in its firey grandeur and towering irony (Lies! Lies! Lies! Lies! Lies!) it's immediately there for everyone. Shit continued to hit the fan. More fist-pumps per second seconds, more voice cracks per note on a wordless melody, more feet left the ground per song than anything else.
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels), though...it was not arena rock. It had a dancing power that people went nuts with, and came in second on the voice cracks per note sung, yeah. It was infinitely personal, tender and young even after its composition 6? 7? 8? years ago. The Arcade Fire returns and manages, like no other song on the set, to pack in all of their many-layered pathos. A cosmic Sfogliatella. Their loss and their optimism in equal and magnetically charged parts drawing towards each other in their stage presence, their musicianship...I'm descending, but if you've seen them live, you get it. They just touch you and it's nice. And in LP3-era AF, they only get better at it.
I was pleasantly surprised with the choice of Keep the Car Running, and even more surprised with how they pushed at it, letting it breathe on the "when it's coming" parts, a brave move for an encore. The density just shot up on those choruses as the drums doubled the beat and the vocals shout, and that was done with such care. Goodness.
I'm tired, but Wake Up was Wake Up. It was the world and distant arena rock and shimmering sentiment. It was magnificently performed and also just had to happen. There is no way that this song, this set, this band is done budding over this tour. The later, the better.
Looking back, the show feels in part contrived, a deliberate attempt by the band to limit themselves and what they said on stage by planning it so carefully, fitting it with the necessities of an (shiver) arena band still kicking off their new-album tour. But what can you do at the Pavilion, on the second show of a long tour of a new disc? Personally it didn't matter at the time. Everybody, it seemed, felt welcomed enough to clap along when they felt like it, and not let the band decide. Me, I fucked up my elbow and my knee and my voice and the attitudes of a few haters behind me and it doesn't matter. That was, if I dare, the wildest, deepest show I've ever seen.
