I went to see The Arcade Fire tonight at Petit Cafe Campus. They're breaking up - finishing up the last of their scheduled shows, then splitting. I won't go into the details, but I can't help but feel that this is a huge mistake: the magic of the group (and there is magic - they are one of the greatest bands I have ever heard) comes not just from the songwriting-in-the-strictest-sense... Dane and Brendan on drums make the pop songs so much more sublime.
anyway.
I bring this up because, although the songs all sounded pretty good (the crowd certainly enjoyed them), it all just felt somehow bleak to me. Somewhere in the music was this encroaching feeling of dread, of it-doesn't-matter... I felt like I was watching a sinking ship. This is much the same sensation I had when I saw Radiohead perform in Barrie - I wrote about it then - and those predictions/observations turned out wholly false. Hopefully, this too is a projected illusion. Hopefully these musicians' music will soar again, be it in their current configuration or no.
Ok, enough with the scenester musings.
The last few nights, I've done a lot of walking in the cold and quiet - nights, afternoons - and each time I've happened to be listening to stripped-down acoustic bluegrass. The lovely Jolie Holland record (which I'll be reviewing for TM soon) on Friday/Saturday, and The Boggs today. There's something oh-so fulfilling about this simple, acheing music when the sky hangs heavy above you, when the streets are silent or empty. The music is so simply true... none of this rock'n'roll nonsense and posturing.