Over the past year and a half, I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes a piece of art truly excellent. Through my film classes at Emory University and my time as one of the Arts & Life editors for The Emory Wheel, I’ve spent a lot of energy writing about what music, television shows and movies mean to me. While it is still tough to articulate what exactly makes a piece of art stand out as particularly transcendent, writing articles for the Wheel about the albums and movies I love has taught me that the best works of art always offer something new to discover, no matter how often you revisit them. On that note, I’d like to dedicate my favorite album of all time, “Funeral” (2004) by Arcade Fire, to the Arts & Life section.
“Funeral” came out the year I was born, and Arcade Fire is the first band I remember listening to. If my hazy memory serves correctly, my parents and I listened to songs from the band’s second album, “Neon Bible” (2007), on our family’s CD player. But it wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I rediscovered Arcade Fire when I saw “Funeral,” their debut album, ranked second on Pitchfork’s list of the top 200 albums of the 2000s.
As the name of the record would suggest, “Funeral” is an album about looking back at something that is not here anymore. But for such a grim title, the album is not just about what’s gone, but also about what inspires hope for the future.
The album’s opening track, “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels),” evokes childhood innocence and naivete with its gentle piano chords and swelling strings as lead singer Win Butler recounts a story of two teenagers sneaking out of their parents’ houses in the middle of a snowstorm to plan out their future lives as a couple. However, as Butler sings, the two teens age and eventually forget the names they were planning on giving their future children.
The song starts out gentle and quaint, much like the childlike innocence Butler sings about. But by the end, Arcade Fire solidifies “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” as an anthemic indie rock banger. When I’m feeling down, I find the story of the teens and their forgotten love tragic. But when I’m feeling hopeful, the swelling instrumentals remind me that though some things end or are forgotten, we carry them with us throughout the rest of our lives, regardless of whether we can remember every little detail.
“Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” is the perfect setup for an album full of nuances, inconsistencies and contradictory meanings. The album’s heartbreaking lyrics are accompanied by upbeat dance-rock instrumentals. The moments of loss and grief are immediately followed by moments of hope and joy. The stories Butler tells feel like he is describing his distant memories of the past but also his dreams for the future. Just like in real life, moments of light and darkness in “Funeral” aren’t separate but concurrent.
I keep coming back to “Funeral” because I know no two listens will ever feel the same. Some will make me feel nostalgic, some will make me feel sad and some will fill me with hope. I know that as I continue to grow and change throughout my life, “Funeral” and its meaning to me will change too.
“Funeral” is an incredibly meaningful album to me, but I never would have thought to listen to it without a publication like Pitchfork recommending it. That’s why I want to dedicate this album to the Arts & Life section of the Wheel. To me, “Funeral” is a testament to the power of arts journalism — it can open our eyes to pieces of art that stay with us for the rest of our lives.
Listening to “Funeral” is like looking back on my time as an Arts & Life Editor — it makes me nostalgic for the past and hopeful for the future.
