Pondering Arcade Fire and The Rings of Interest

I spent the last three days with my closest group of friends preparing for and celebrating a wedding in upstate New York. A few years back, four members of the group lived together and played lengthy midnight rambles. Some of us are very musically gifted, others are not, but these rambles were fully participatory, which gave them an intimacy and emotional power unlike other musical experiences. As I watched Arcade Fire tonight, it seemed to me that every member of the band was playing with this high level of purpose and emotional energy.

I arrived in Boston today, and hung out in Cambridge with my friend Scott. Scott is one of my favorite concert buddies and an endorser of Arcade Fire to me. We met up with his friends at a place called Whiskey Priest, so that by the time we arrived at the venue I had several Harpoon IPAs in my stomach. Boston was perfect, with a cool breeze and the smell of the open sea. The Bank of America Pavilion is a small, concrete ampitheatre--our seats were on the outer rim pavilion in the right corner--however while Arcade Fire played I did not feel in the nosebleeds.

My anticipation for the show has been building for several weeks, and I have spent time listening to Arcade Fire's music, especially the newer songs. After "Ready to Start" and "Month of May" I was howling and feeling fine. I was also sending jubilant texts and discussing with Scott and his friends. Erin, with whom I attended Bonaroo '09, and I decided that at some point we would move down closer.

For me, the whole point was to be in the middle of it for "Wake Up." I have heavy respect for Arcade Fire, and I enjoy their new songs, but "Wake Up" was going to be the emotional peak of the show for me; the only time to have a fully visceral experience; so, I wanted to be in the best possible spot for it. After "Rebellion," our group tramped down to the midway point of the covered seats, only settling into a spot when we were rebuffed by a cadre of security.

During the first song of the encore, a small camera crew walked down the aisle swiftly. I grabbed Erin by the hand, and we followed the crew along the right side of the seats to the front. As we walked, the opening chords of "Wake Up" started. Anticipation swelled. The camera crew stopped near the front edge of the stage.

"That's Terry Gilliam," Erin said.
"He doesn't like to be touched," said the P.A. as I tapped him on the shoulder.

We did not last long in this position, but luckily the security acted passively. We went back to our group and the gray area between the aisle and seats; Scott later claimed there was an invisible line we were not supposed to cross. As I listened to "Wake Up," I fell into a deep passion, singing and dancing until my voice became one with Arcade Fire.