When the electro-pop segment kicks in with “Afterlife” and “Reflektor”, and Regine gyrates across the stage playing keytar in a Grace Jones hood, then, it acts as another string to a finely tuned bow. That they relish the drama in every roar and hush of their music is what makes them so magical. Standing in spot-lit shadow on his monitor preparing to unleash the gruesome gospel of “My Body is a Cage”, he politely demands silence from the industry chatterers at the bar because “I just think it’d be beautiful”. Butler, a master of revels resplendent in Cubist trousers, remains as wry and intense as ever, telling viewers of the livestream to “go outside and do something” and thanking The Clash for existing before “Generation A” (which actually sounds like The Clash being covered by Talking Heads). “Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)” feels like a delirious dispatch from our lost, carefree youths. “Ready to Start”, a freight train of brooding melody steered by Butler’s edge-of-mania vocals, is an instant reminder of the band’s untrammelled power, and gives way to the “The Suburbs”, a reassuring pony trek through picket fence lives barely lived. The evolution of Arcade Fire from raucous alt-rock art riot to feral disco band has threatened to electronically suppress the passion in their performance, but tonight – as on WE – they strike a masterful balance. Tonight, we shall be dancing through the wreckage of a world. As Butler’s creative cohort and spouse Regine Chassange takes to the stage front firing lasers from her fingers (later she’ll also model a chunky laser belt, like Tyson Fury joining The Chemical Brothers) the song becomes a gothic rave tune, setting the tone for the evening. Tonight, they open with the glowering piano and rapid heartbeats of “Age of Anxiety I”, wracked with the tension of the times and exposing the shallow facades of ourselves that we post and the insecurities they hide. Butler apparently wrote two or three albums during lockdown and their forthcoming sixth, WE, tackles topics ranging from the insidious nature of online life to the collapse of western democracy. But for all the praises that frontman Win Butler sings to the place between the band’s intoxicating melodic barrages – it does injustice to call them mere “songs” – he’s here to demolish it on launch night.Īs rabid reflectors of mankind’s social and ideological ills – consumerism, religious manipulation, suburban ennui, war – it’s been a fertile few years for Arcade Fire. The Canadian rabble rockers’ first UK show in four years marks the reopening of the iconic Camden venue following a £70m refurb, £69.9999m of which must have gone on the reportedly palatial new members club areas while regular punters get a new roll of carpet in the entrance corridor. Beneath a gigantic oval eye watching over the crowd, a swarm of shadows take to Koko’s stage there appear to be nine of them but they roam around and swap instruments so liberally it’s tough to keep count. Just when you thought you’d survived all your brushes with apocalypse, Arcade Fire blow into town. Arcade Fire’s Win Butler (Matt Cowan/Shutterstock)
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