Albums Of The Decade: #1 – Funeral

by Paul on December 14th, 2009

Well, here we are at Sun On The Sand’s favorite album of the decade. What stands out about the top five is that they all, with perhaps the exception of Boxer, marked significant shifts in music since the turn of the century. While Arcade Fire’s Funeral did not shatter popular conceptions of music like Since I Left You or signal an adventurous shift in direction for a well-established group like Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Kid A, there is no doubt that this album skyrocketed Arcade Fire almost instantly to indie royalty, and changed what it meant to be “indie” in the first place.

Hailing from Montreal, Arcade Fire was touring before the album was released on the strength of a self-titled EP. Surely buzz was building just on the basis of this tour, but no one could have predicted the success that would follow the release of its debut album. Within a year, the band was playing mid-afternoon slots on festivals main stages to massive, expectant crowds excitedly waiting to hear their new favorite album played live. Combining the infectious energy and emotion of indie-rock with soaring orchestral arrangements, Funeral was like nothing else available at that time. Sufjan had yet to perfect his brand of orchestral pop and although the classically trained such as Andrew Bird and Joanna Newsom had decent followings, none of these appealed to so many people in so many ways.

For a debut album, Funeral is thematically ambitious to say the least. Weaving tales of personal loss and domestic struggle aside an album-long thread of adolescent maturation is not a feat accomplished, or even conjured, by many bands. But amidst the tragedies suffered by the band members during recording, Win Butler and company manage to craft one of the most moving records of this decade. The album received its title due to the deaths of several people close to band members, and there is a pall that seems to loom over every track. However, this is an album that deals with growing up and nostalgia, so you can feel the band fighting to break through with a childlike joy, and many times they succeed. Even at the album’s bleakest, ‘Une Année Sans Lumière’ (roughly translates to ‘A Year Without Light’), the band finds hope in the coda, losing the dreary string melody for double-time guitars and tambourines. Even further, on the next track, the chorus of background players shouts that they’ve “found the light!”

Set up by the more sorrowful tracks, Arcade Fire is at its best when that joy hits in full force. This is most apparent live when band members are racing all over the stage covering myriad instruments. However, they manage to pull off the depth of sound that makes the record so enduring after hundreds of listens. Simultaneously accessible and complex, the arrangements are impeccably layered so that after those hundred listens, the listener still finds new flourishes in the violins or glockenspiel runs that give the album its identity, and this is what sets Arcade Fire apart from any other indie band. However, it’s the way that they manage to use these styles to accompany the lyrical content that is so magical. The constant battle between despair and resolute hopefulness does not succeed the way that it does without the flawlessness of the musical setting.

It’s this conflict, though, that still gives me chills upon listening. From the simple, reserved, and forlorn beginning of ‘Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)’ to the sheer exuberance of ‘Rebellion (Lies)’, Butler perfectly captures every stage of adolescence. Following the exposition of ‘Tunnels’, on ‘Laika’ we get a tale of familial estrangement, and following the despair of death on ‘Une Année Sans Lumière’, ‘Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)’ is a depiction of every kid’s dream come true when there are no parents to enforce any rules. Teenage angst sets in on ‘Rebellion’, with Butler propositioning “People say that your dreams are the only things that save you. Come on baby in our dreams, we can live on misbehavior.”

He realizes, though, that there is more to coming of age than the extremes of sadness and happiness. There is insecurity and confusion, and that is what made the choice of ‘Wake Up’ so apt to accompany the trailers for Where the Wild Things Are. More than an adolescent anxiety, the doubt expressed in this song applied to everyone in 2004. The promise of a new decade had not been fulfilled exactly as many had hoped, and there was this longing for a time not too far gone. In the face of wars, economic struggles, and widespread cynicism, there aren’t too many lines that sum up the sentiment of reluctant resignation better than the climax of that song, but not without a glimpse of hope: “We’re just a million little gods causing rain storms, turning everything good to dust. I guess we’ll just have to adjust.”

Paul Bulow

Honorable Mentions (Part 1)
Honorable Mentions (Part 2)
#50-41
#40-31
#30-21
#20-11
#10 / #9 / #8 / #7 / #6 / #5 / #4 / #3 / #2