City With No Children

So the only reason I know about Arcade Fire is because David Bowie played with them that one time. That’s not fully the only reason, but it’s the main one. Because also they’re very highly acclaimed and sometimes get airplay on college radio. But mostly because David Bowie played with them that one time at an awards show. That’s the ultimate accolade, isn’t it? Though who knows if Bowie even wanted to play with them – awards shows will throw any random combination of people together on stage for the shock value. (Awards shows must be the worst venues to play – imagine trying to rouse an audience of doped-up celebrities who can’t move inside their corsets.) So anyway, I thought, coolness I’ll check out this Arcade Fire. I did and thought they were kind of boring. They sound like Death Cab with more violins. But since then I’ve been digging their recentest album, The Suburbs, which is about exactly what the title implies. Though I still don’t think they’ve really distinguished themselves from all the other well-produced ‘indie’ bands who like exotic instruments and layers of  melodic vocals, it’s a very pretty and thoughtful record. I always like a big concept, and tackling the whole idea of suburban living is a big enough theme for any record. It’s also nice that it’s not an angry suburbs-kill-soul rant, but a more wistful affair. Though I admit I haven’t delved into the lyrical subtleties to the point where I can pinpoint what the final message is about.

Ghost Town

What I like about this, besides being a good ditty, is how Cat Stevens presents my favorite view of the afterlife. No ash to ash or eternal oblivion. There’s a ghost party in the afterlife where you mingle with notables, and everyone appears their best self from life. Or so I like to imagine it. I realize it’s probably meant as a joke and Cat Stevens has a very different view now that he’s found Allah. But it’s a fun idea, dammit.