Coachella 2011: Arcade Fire proves glorious

April 17th, 2011, 12:35 pm ·


In 2004, Wayne Coyne, that lovable weirdo from the Flaming Lips, arrived more or less inside a balloon. A giant space bubble was what he called it, if I recall correctly, but let's not split hairs at 3 a.m. It was a big inflatable thing like no one had ever really seen before at a show, let alone a major, virtually headlining performance at what was then the fifth Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival, held as always on the lovely Empire Polo Field in brutally hot Indio.

Seven years later on that same spot, Arcade Fire, a band for whom this annual weekend oasis has twice before proven to be a place for magical, glowing performances, indulged its own form of beautiful balloon play like we've never seen before.

As the huddled masses began to holler the opening chant of “Wake Up,” they were showered from on high, where a huge black-cloaked box had been held aloft via crane for several songs, the anticipation growing particularly excruciating during a perfectly-paced race through “Keep the Car Running.” Finally, out tumbled hundreds of uniquely illuminated balloon balls that came cascading down upon the crowd.

That's a fairly ordinary trick, but this time it had a twist: Rather than just another downfall of balloons you could see at any Coldplay concert, soon to be popped and forgotten, this bobbling flood suddenly started glittering, as every ball began to flash and flicker in different shades of light from within, all seemingly coordinated by remote control or perhaps triggered by timers. Almost immediately people stopped bouncing them higher into the air and started clutching on to them like children about to accidentally step into traffic. (Wonder how much these mementos will sell for in 10 years?)

Naturally, this interactive stunt, the only memorable thing to emerge from several ballyhooed Creators Project creations (Friday night's video treatment of Interpol was a dud), happened near the end of the Montreal ensemble's tremendous night-ending 90-minute performance, easily Arcade Fire's greatest Coachella appearance, even without the balls. Yes, the lasting power of their bracing 2005 debut here can't be overstated, but it set them on a path that led to this full flowering of their urgent artistry that for the first time suggests Arcade Fire has the strength and reach to rub shoulders with Muse and Coldplay and the like as future stadium fillers.


It's a trajectory, from indie darling to icon of an era, that chief vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Win Butler touched on halfway into Saturday night's show. “Coachella was the first real festival we ever played,” he said -- as if those of us who witnessed even a fraction of their set that day could possibly forget. “So it has a real special place in our hearts.”

“We don't ever take it for granted,” he added, though by that I think he meant not just the festival's significance for the decade-old septet but the steadfast admiration of fans who filled the Polo Field far and wide Saturday night, and then waited and waited for their heroes.

They cheered through an outstanding and often gripping first appearance from British breakout band Mumford & Sons, another superb Coachella debut to add to the annals. But then they mostly flopped on the grass to merely endure a well-played yet visually tedious performance from Animal Collective. They waited until almost midnight, waited to sing along, to sway under a full moon -- to be awed by these endearing Canadians, so earnest in the moment but so humble when the songs are over.

“If you had told me in 2002 we'd be headlining Coachella with Animal Collective opening for us, I'd have told you you're full of s***,” Butler mentioned after a storming kickoff that, after some amusing coming attractions cribbed from The Warriors and Camelot under an old movie palace marquee, found the band segueing from a biting blitz through “Month of May” straight into a roaring “Rebellion (Lies).” “Believe it or not it's pretty intimidating to be up here in front of you people,” he noted later on.

That graciousness -- and the sense that neither the spoils of fame nor the heady rush of acclaim is tainting either their personalities or their collective craft -- adds to the reasons why some of us are so riveted by this bunch. They are inexplicably brilliant, alchemic in their genius, and they have stayed consistently compelling longer than most of their peers, even when occasionally floundering amid uncooperative equipment or straining too hard to put across dramatic tension. (That's a fine line even Bono still doesn't traverse with much agility.)

They now rival Radiohead as the only truly important band alive from a field rife with fascinating norm-busters and envelope-pushers. Yet part of what's so special about Arcade Fire is that it shows all over their faces that they still can't believe any of this outpouring is happening for them, even as they inevitably settle into being a machine that knows more precisely how to turn its power on and off.

And, man, have they improved -- tenfold at least. The new control in Butler's vocals -- the nuance, the confidence -- that has developed without forsaking either his nervy edge or his moments of overcome passion was an absolute revelation Saturday night, especially during moments at the piano like “The Suburbs.”

But the entire group is honed like I never thought they'd be: whether the mood is playful (“Haiti,” whose devastation sparked a plea from Butler to donate in honor of his 34th birthday this past week) or deceptively jangly (“City with No Children") or strangely menacing (“Rococo”) or explosive (“Ready to Start,” “Neighborhood #3”), there was an unexpected exactness to their flow that only enhanced the fervency of the moment. They're a zeitgeist in a bottle that can boast their very own Joshua Tree, right down to its crowning Grammy.

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