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Neon Bible

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Download links and information about Neon Bible by Arcade Fire. This album was released in 2007 and it belongs to Rock, Alternative Rock, Indie Rock, Alternative, Indie genres. It contains 11 tracks with total duration of 46:59 minutes.

Artist: Arcade Fire
Release date: 2007
Genre: Rock, Alternative Rock, Indie Rock, Alternative, Indie
Tracks: 11
Duration: 46:59
Buy on Music Bazaar €1.32
Buy on Amazon $5.99
Buy on iTunes $9.99

Tracks

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No. Title Length
1. Black Mirror 4:13
2. Keep the Car Running 3:29
3. Neon Bible 2:16
4. Intervention 4:19
5. Black Wave / Bad Vibrations 3:57
6. Ocean of Noise 4:53
7. The Well and the Lighthouse 3:56
8. Antichrist Television Blues 5:10
9. Windowsill 4:16
10. No Cars Go 5:43
11. My Body Is a Cage 4:47

Details

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Neon Bible is a dystopian work for dystopian times. In the two and a half years since Funeral, their universally beloved debut, Arcade Fire has turned their attention outward rather than in, and they don’t like what they see: bombs, monster waves, water swirling up to the windowsill. “I don’t want to fight in a holy war / I don’t want the salesmen knocking at my door / I don’t want to live in America no more,” sings the expatriate Win Butler, sounding very much like that uber-American, Bruce Springsteen. Like Springsteen, Arcade Fire is willing to risk a little melodrama on their way to sonic grandeur. Luckily, their scruffy indie-orchestral aesthetic (featuring hurdy-gurdy, accordion, layered horns, droning guitars and processed strings, all played with an endearing, disheveled enthusiasm) keeps the bombast from getting too thick. And though the arrangements are busier than ever, the songwriting is actually more disciplined; Neon Bible’s songs are tense and explosive, but they stay away from easy catharsis. The most memorable moments here offer not release, but variations on dread: the sorrowful mariachi horns closing “Ocean of Noise”; a wall of white noise like surf or distant thunder, announcing the queasy, pounding two-chord opener of “Black Mirror.” The exception is “No Cars Go,” an older song that here sounds almost redemptive — a welcome return of the loopy, polyphonic idealism that made Funeral such a blast. Us kids know, indeed.