Quite how Montreal-based rockers Arcade Fire react to the endless superlatives tossed their way is uncertain.
Not since The Strokes reignited interest in all things New York has such hyperbole greeted a single band, but while Julian Casablancas and co seemingly reminded everyone of a remotely youthful disposition that they should own a pair of Chuck Taylors, Arcade Fire are far more than thrift store clothes-horses.
They aren't outdone when it comes to fashion, though - vocalist Win Butler's natty waistcoat may become the most iconic garb since David Byrne sported giant suits. In fact, Butler's performance is most closely reminiscent of the former Talking Heads frontman, and he embodies the same kind of urgent intensity.
Instruments and stage positions are swapped, and lanky percussionist Richard Reed Parry hits anything that moves (and some things that don't), sometimes while donning a motorcycle helmet.
The raucous show proves just how special Arcade Fire are: unafraid to show passion and drive, their elegant Pixies- meets-Rachel's racket comes as a welcome riposte to arch, 80s-referencing post-punk revivalists.
The orchestrations that prove so spectacular on record, as arranged by tonight's support act Final Fantasy, are recreated perfectly.
More No Wave than new wave, the seven-strong troupe revels in dissonance and opulence, their uplifting, string-soaked sound underpinned by ferocious drumming and careening guitars, while Wake Up morphs into an infectious soul stomp that recalls Dexy's.
The closing In the Back Seat, sung by Butler's wife Regine Chassagne, matches Bjork for tremulous majesty, and when it's over the band march offstage past the audience. For once the hype machine is fully justified - a fact crystallised with these poignant songs of poise and grace.
Simon Harper
