20 years of Arcade Fire’s Funeral

September 14, 2024

20 years ago today, the Montreal band Arcade Fire released their debut album, Funeral. They called it that because the band members had recently had several deaths in the family, and their sadness infused this album with strong emotion, but the name is deceptive: the album feels like the opposite of a funeral. It was a rebirth of classic rock that also fueled countless indie rock bands in the 2000s that were more into violins than guitar solos.

I remember the first time I heard Arcade Fire: I was listening to various artists on last.fm, and an electrifying song came on: “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out),” about kids rushing outside during a power outage, looking for light and life. It sums up the band well: at once minimalistic (with a relentlessly driving beat and repeated riff) yet complex and full of irrepressible feelings. This band is all about feelings, expressed with all the earnest passion they can muster. Arcade Fire doesn’t seem to start with any preconception about what music genre they’re supposed to be playing; feelings come first, and the musical styles emerge from there.

I also remember the second time I heard Arcade Fire: I went over to a friend’s apartment and heard the shimmering opening of the album: “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels).” There are few times I’ve felt this kind of awe at simply hearing a recording of music. I was stunned at the musical grace (the utter simplicity of that repeated major 7th arpeggio at the beginning, played on piano and distorted guitar at the same time) and amazed to find out that this soothing song was by the same band that did “Power Out.” But once I looked at the lyrics, I realized this song about a snowstorm was on a similar theme: kids venturing out of their homes at a tumultuous time, trying to make human connections on their own, without adult guidance.

As the day grows dim
I hear you sing a golden hymn
The song I’ve been trying to sing

Stereogum wrote this on the album’s 10-year anniversary:

Arguably the most influential indie-rock record of its era, Funeral is a how-to guide for grand, artful, cathartic rock music that’s nonetheless proven impossible to replicate — and many, many bands have tried. In the years that followed Funeral, so many of its tics became indie-rock clichés: sing-songy choral exuberance, orchestral instruments, madcap auxiliary percussion, Springsteen love, so many band members you can barely fit them on stage, even dressing up rather than wearing ratty T-shirts. … Win Butler’s reverent sincerity, [his wife] Régine Chassagne’s theater-kid enthusiasm, and the entire ensemble’s unapologetic splendor — it all helped steer indie-rock to somewhere far away from Pavement’s ironic detachment.

Funeral is a concept album about childhood, but the album is for anyone who ever rebelled against lies …

… or ever lost the crown of love …

… or ever realized they had to wake up.

Somethin’ filled up
My heart with nothin’
Someone told me not to cry
Now that I’m older
My heart’s colder
And I can see that it’s a lie